


A Lesson in Humility

by Icse, the_obsidian_ronin



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Blood and Violence, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Crossover, Dark Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Obi-Wan, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Mental Instability, Mind Games, Psychological Torture, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Sorry Not Sorry, Submissive Anakin Skywalker, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icse/pseuds/Icse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_obsidian_ronin/pseuds/the_obsidian_ronin
Summary: Star Wars/Assassin's Creed Crossover. You don't really need to be familiar with either fandom to read this.The eagle of Masyaf, quietly known as Anakin Skywalker, had spent his entire life working up to to the rank of Master Assassin and the respect of his peers. All at once, though, it was taken away because of one mistake. While Anakin spirals downward through his quest for redemption and forgiveness, Obi-Wan Kenobi begins his trek into darkness. All the while they both continue to get drawn in a plot between Al Mualim's machinations and the Templars.**On hiatus**





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea popped into our heads one day and hasn't quite let go. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Any specific chapter warnings will be in the notes.

###  Chapter 1

**_“And [by] the father and that which was born [of him], we have certainly created man into hardship.”_ **

_ Quran 90:3-4, Surah Al-Balad.  _

_ “Do you ride a cock the same way you’re riding that horse?” _

Obi-Wan Kenobi massaged his temples at the pair riding next to him, willing the headache behind his eyes to go away. His best friend, Quinlan Vos, was currently trying to provoke Anakin into yet another verbal sparring match. Anakin, thankfully, remained silent for once in his life, pulling his hood up to cover more of his face and slumping down further in the saddle. Obi-Wan gave Quinlan a look but received a shit-eating grin in return. “I don’t know why you provoke him. It only ends up with you in trouble with Al Mualim.”

Quinlan shrugged, “It’s been a quiet road, quieter than it’s been in years. Loosen up, grumpy, this used to be your favorite game too.”

Obi-Wan shifted his gaze away from his friend to the dubious figure that was Anakin Skywalker, the man in white in a moody, brooding silence. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Anakin?” 

He shrugged, eyes focused forward. “I want to get this over with.” Obi-Wan could almost feel the contempt rolling off Anakin in waves and clucked to his horse to speed up, motioning for Quin to do the same. They were getting close to Solomon’s Temple so the adults should at least talk strategy instead of leaving it up to Anakin. Why Al Mualim held Anakin in such high regard failed to be seen; no one believed that he was worthy of the Master’s robes that he had been granted only days before they had set out.

Quinlan had shrugged it off initially, seeming as if he didn’t care, but he’d later confided in Obi-Wan. It had made him uncomfortable to think their lives were in Skywalker’s hands, despite his obvious talents, as he had become the senior ranking member of their trio--regardless of them being four years older than Anakin.

“Were you able to memorize the layout of the Temple? The map wasn’t the most detailed, but I think we’d be better off approaching from the east entrance. It’s narrow and small enough that it shouldn’t be heavily guarded and if we do encounter resistance we’ll be able to hold off numbers while we retreat.” Quinlan dropped his voice lower, glancing back at Anakin to see if he was paying attention, “Do you know specifically what it was that we were sent to retrieve? Anakin still hasn’t told me but I was hoping that Al Mualim had confided in you as well.”

Obi-Wan shook his head keeping his voice low as well, “No, all the details were given to Anakin. I tried asking when he first informed me of our mission but he’s been tight-lipped since the start and moodier than usual. You’d think he’d be rubbing his promotion in our faces repeatedly, his robes finally match his ego after all. Maybe Al Mualim finally taught him discretion.”

“And maybe, we can finally sleep at night without having to worry about one of his mistakes biting us in the ass.” Quinlan cast his brown eyes back towards the man, who lagged behind them. “I do worry about him, though. Either he’ll get himself killed or us.” 

“Careful Vos, he might think you see him as less than perfect.” Obi-Wan’s blue-gray eyes shone with humor before turning more serious, “I worry more about us than him. Somehow he always makes it back alive; those that left with him, not so much.”

Any reply Quinlan would’ve had was cut off as Anakin forced his horse between theirs. His gruff voice cut through the sudden silence, “We’re almost there. You two can wait outside or do whatever you’d like, I don’t need you to complete this mission.” He pushed his horse to continue right past them.

“Is that why the others never come back?” Kenobi shot back without thinking, but bit his tongue to prevent any other stupid remarks from crossing his lips. He’d promised himself that he’d be on his best behavior and not sink to the same level as Anakin, but it was proving harder than he originally anticipated, especially with Vos egging him on.

Anakin froze, though his horse continued moving. “What did you say?” 

Quinlan shot a wide-eyed gaze at Kenobi, but the fair-skinned man only cleared his throat and stared right at where Anakin’s eyes would be if his damned hood wasn’t up. “I  _ said, _ is that why the others never come back? If you don’t need us to complete the mission, what’s stopping us from turning back right this instant and going back to Al Mualim, without you, without whatever the  _ hell _ it is he has us looking for?” 

Anakin snorted. “Like I said,  _ outsider, _ you can do whatever you want. I’ll deal with whatever comes myself, regardless of your presence.” He spurred his horse forward, moving twenty feet in front of them. It signaled the end of the conversation, that was for sure. 

“Unbelievable,” Obi-Wan deadpanned under his breath, then rolled his eyes, turning his horse. “Alright, Quin, let’s go.” 

“What?” the man gaped, tossing a dreadlock out of his eyes. “Are you sure? What if something happens?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged. “He claims he has it all under control, so why do we need to stay?” 

“Because we both know that he doesn’t. If it was within his capabilities Al Mualim wouldn’t have ordered us to go with him.” Quinlan shot back.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, nodding at his friend’s truth. “You’re right. And I’d rather not face Al Mualim without whatever we’re looking for alone.” He turned his horse back in the right direction, muttering under his breath. “But he’s going to get us killed, or worse, captured.” 

“It’s something we can deal with if it presents itself,” Quinlan rationalized, and Kenobi nodded, taking solace in the words. 

They pushed their horses to a fast trot to catch up with Anakin. “You might not want us here, but Al Mualim gave us orders to be here... so it’s here we’ll be.” Quinlan’s statement was a challenge, Kenobi knew; everything was with him. A challenge, a goade, a bribe, something. But Anakin’s only response was a slight shrug of his shoulder, gaze locked on the road before him. 

When the Temple was visible in the distance they moved their horses off the road to a patch of shrubs and dismounted. Silently they tied their horses and loosened their weapons from their sheaths. Anakin strode out without so much as a glance at either one of them, leaving them both to trail behind him.

“I bet you a hundred akce that he barges in through the front entrance,” Quinlan loudly whispered to Obi-Wan, watching both Anakin’s back and his gait stiffen.

“I’m not going to take a losing bet, Quin,” he teased, stifling the chuckle threatening to come out as he heard Skywalker’s breath hissing out between his teeth in anger. 

“You never know, Obi, maybe those new Master’s robes gave him some sense!” Quinlan did his best to keep the grin out of his voice, but not the smirk off his face. 

Anakin whirled around, his blue eyes glaring at them with barely controlled anger. “If you two are quite finished with your  _ jealous  _ prating, I need to infiltrate the Temple and steal the Artifact;  _ not  _ announce to every Templar we’re coming in for a visit!” His last syllables were a harsh whisper, far above the level noise they’d been making. He pinned each of them with an angry glare before heading towards the south entrance.

Quinlan sighed, “He’s going to get himself killed going that way. There’s going to be more guards that way and less cover.”

“Maybe he wants to get himself killed.” Obi-Wan shrugged, “Let’s go the east entrance like you suggested, both passages lead to that main room where we’re rather certain whatever it is we’ve come for will be.” They both picked up a silent jog towards their chosen entrance as Anakin entered the front.

“So what do you think this Artifact is he mentioned, bookworm?”

Kenobi sighed, giving Vos an exasperated look, “Probably some ancient artifact that Al Mualim thinks is important in some spiritual way. He's been studying up on some ancient culture that worshipped these 'Ones Who Came Before’ that had objects of power. Satine was complaining she's had to go through some of the oldest archives for him the other day. Said he sounded like a man almost possessed.’

“He could be a man possessed for as much as he scares everyone with just a look.” Vos shuddered; everyone was terrified of Al Mualim’s 'you’re in trouble’ look. He'd even seen Anakin flinch away from it on several occasions.

As Quinlan predicted, the east entrance was narrow with low ceilings. Even Kenobi had to duck down to make it through the passage. There were no guards, but several places had began to cave in, slowing their progress down. They both stopped when they heard voices echoing ahead, the sound of French alien to their ears. One voice boomed louder than the others, sounding angry as it yelled what Obi-Wan figured were orders to the softer voices. Luckily they didn’t hear Anakin or the sounds of a fight. Maybe they would make it out of this alive after all. 

Quinlan led the way, quietly getting to the ground to peer over the ledge at the noise, trying to scope out a way where they should run into Anakin before he could do something stupid, but deep down, the Assassin knew that the dumbass would get himself in trouble one way or another. 

The people they had heard were apparently in an adjoining chamber; all he could see was a single worker pushing around a few rocks with his toes in the middle of the said chamber. He spied Anakin slinking in from the main entrance and quickly got up, lightly jumping to a convenient scaffold and climbing down, following the shadows. He heard the wisp of Obi-Wan’s robes behind him as he shadowed Quinlan’s path, and the elder took a quiet comfort in his brother’s company.  

The familiar sound of a blade being drawn caught Vos’s ears, and he ran faster, skidding into a torch-lit excavation tunnel that seemed to have no end as it pitched into darkness, but there was Anakin, along with a man in a worker’s garb. 

“Tell me how to get into the main chamber,” Anakin demanded, and the man, nearly quaking in his boots, quickly rushed out directions.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Anakin grinned, tossing him to the ground, but Vos saw the glint in his eye, the slight of his hand. 

“No! Anakin, leave him! He’s a civilian!” Vos shouted at the outranking member of the trio, but he was blatantly ignored, the blade on Anakin’s wrist piercing the man’s spinal cord. Obi-Wan looked away, clenching his fists as his jaw knotted. 

“He was begging for mercy,” Kenobi hissed, pressing his hand to his mouth to shove aside the repulsion. 

“What, afraid of a little  _ blood, _ ” Anakin sneered, but Kenobi’s anger flared, grabbing the man by his hair and slamming him against the wall. 

“You are  _ out of control, _ you insolent  _ brat, _ ” Kenobi snarled, fury on his lips. Anakin only gave a sly, bratty grin, running his tongue along his teeth.

“Kenobi, now is not the time,” Vos warned, and after a moment, Kenobi released Anakin, shaking his head. 

“Disgraceful,” Kenobi sneered, looking him up and down with distaste. “You don’t deserve those robes. Not after  _ that. _ And we will finish this conversation  _ later.”  _

Their argument had apparently drawn the attention of the people in the next chamber over, Kenobi mused, as five knights in armor strode through the doorway with swords drawn. “Fucking figures,” Vos snarled, and then swore in a string of languages. 

The last knight to walk in the room stood a head taller than the others and twice as broad. His armor and weapons were of a much better quality, marking him as their likely leader. A white-haired figure in the distance investigated their nails, war paint staining the pale cheeks and icy blue eyes lowered as their leader lectured the rest of the soldiers. 

The trio drew their short swords and dropped into their respective fighting stances, Obi-Wan to his favored Soresu, Quinlan and Anakin to the more aggressive Ataru. They stood shoulder to shoulder, Anakin grinning and spinning his blade in anticipation of the challenge.  _ He never looks more frightening than right before a fight,  _ Obi-Wan thought to himself, glancing over at his compatriot. Any further thoughts were interrupted by the tall Templar shouting at his knights.

“Well, don't just stand there!  _ Get them _ !”

“You don't frighten us with your silly knees-bent running around advancing behavior!” Quinlan shouted in retaliation, and lurched into battle with a sadistic grin on his face. 

The white-haired one in the back turned with mild interest towards the fight, though they showed no interest in joining it theirself. 

Six Templars rushed the trio, and they were easily discarded, but it was the next waves that got them separated. Kenobi lost sight of Quinlan and Anakin, but he pressed on, cutting a path through the wave of soldiers. 

_ Christ,  _ Kenobi muttered to himself.  _ Where are they all coming from? _

A blade crossed his, and he turned to see the white-haired one from before, black armor dull in the shadows of the Temple. “It's a shame this is holy ground,  _ Assassin.  _ I'd enjoy killing you a lot more.” 

“Likewise,” Kenobi snarled, twirling an attack at her to catch her unguarded right side. But a blade was met there, too, and the girl grinned the kind of grin a fox would have. 

“Surprise,” she teased, then danced after him, her feet light and her defense nearly as impenetrable as her offense was defendable. She was faster, lighter, and seemed to outwit him with almost every strike. If he wasn't fighting for his life, Kenobi mused, he would be  _ very _ impressed. 

Quinlan fell into step beside him, the man flashing him his smirk. “Can't have all the fun without me,” he teased, dancing off each other to take on the girl together. 

Kenobi nodded to the object tied to her belt, and Quinlan nodded, a smirk dancing off his face. 

A rock tumbled down from the ceiling. Quinlan dove out of the way, pinning the girl under him. 

“What do you think you're doing?!” She snapped at him. 

“Uh, it's called a tackle, honey.” Quinlan gave her his most charming smile.

“ _ Honey!?” _

Kenobi was sent scattering into a boulder in the corner of the room, the usually graceful Assassin slamming back-first into the object and falling to the ground, stunned. 

Meanwhile, Anakin circled the stranger, eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” he shouted at the towering man, blocking yet another brutal strike with his sword that left his bones shaking and numb. 

“My name,  _ boy _ , is Robert de Maul, but you can just call me Maul.” The man grinned cruelly at Anakin, lashing out with his iron gloved hand at Anakin’s head. 

Anakin ducked under the blow, putting him directly in the path of a well-placed kick to his sternum, stumbling back and barely catching himself with his heel perched on the helmet of a dead Templar soldier. His blade narrowly caught the brunt of the next blow, the edge of the sword slicing his ribs to the bone. He bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain, bringing his sword back up. Neither Quinlan or Kenobi were in his sight anymore, Maul kept pushing him back towards the passage he’d come in. He tried to brace himself once again against the onslaught of blows that never seemed to end, but the second one knocked his sword out of his numb hand. For the first time in his life he felt true terror and the certain knowledge of his death. 

“Give up,  _ boy _ , and I may let you live.” Maul landed a hit to Anakin in the head with the hilt of his blade, causing him to stumble back into the scaffolding along the wall. He had to jump back as the scaffolding surrounding the entrance began collapsing. Pieces of the wall began to crumble and Maul was sure the boy would be crushed by the falling debris. He turned his back to join Ventress against the two remaining Assassins.

Kenobi managed to scramble up to jump to defend Quinlan’s back against the Frenchman, eyes narrowed in focus. “What’s the damage?” Quinlan asked as they studied each of the Templar that circled them. 

“Good news is we’re not dead and it's two versus two,” Kenobi rationalized. “Bad news is Skywalker is cut off from us and knowing him, he’ll leave without us.” 

“Good riddance,” Quinlan huffed, blocking a strike from Ventress just as Kenobi parried Maul’s heavy blade. 

Kenobi gulped, drawing a knife from his belt and switching to a reverse grip. Soresu would do him no good. 

Quinlan and Obi-Wan talked to each other in hushed code, the lyrical language falling off their tongue like it was their first. “Kenobi,” Quinlan called, back pressed against his friend’s. “I want you to run for that exit as fast as you can.” 

“I'm not going to leave without you!” The ginger howled in return, narrowly escaping a cuff from Maul’s heavy hand. 

“Just go!” Vos shouted, shoving his friend towards the tunnel. “I got this!” 

He ducked under both blades, Maul and Ventress getting tangled as the cavern started to cave in. “Go!” He shouted to the standing Kenobi, tossing him something and pushing the duo of Templars back. 

Before Kenobi could stop him, the tunnel started crumbling down upon him, and he fled as it completely collapsed behind him.  _ I'm sorry, old friend, _ Obi-Wan sighed, looking back at the ruins of the Temple and the wrapped sphere in his hand.  _ I wish I could have saved you.  _

Inside that Temple, Vos stood with his back in a corner, gulping nervously as he stood, unarmed, with three blades held to his throat. “So, uh, about those introductions....” 

Maul rolled his eyes, slamming the Assassin’s head into the wall and huffing him over his shoulder, Vos now dangling like a rag doll. “Let's find a way out of here, Asajj.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. Getting a little more into it now!

Anakin pulled his body from the collapsed scaffolding, his raw hands clawing back to the surface like a demon from hell. He looked down at his leg, where a large splinter had pierced his thigh; he only groaned, rolling his eyes. _I should’ve been crushed by the rock; maybe I should stop thinking I’ll keep getting lucky,_ he thought to himself, using the wall to drag himself to his feet. _But Padme is going to_ kill _me, and likely literally kill me._

Pain wracked his body with every movement and he took an unsteady step towards the opening of the Temple. _I hope Obi-Wan and Quinlan were able to make it out the other way.... I’m in no shape to help,_  Anakin muttered to himself, glaring down at the piece of wood stained red from his blood. He pulled the splinter from his thigh, hoping to whatever gods there were that he got all the pieces out in one pull. Every breath he took hurt his ribs but there was nothing he could do about that, he’d probably broken a few ribs when he tried to protect the rest of his body from the falling debris.

The setting sun shone bright in his eyes as he finally stumbled out of the temple, catching himself on a boulder outside the crumbling ruins. _Why did we have to leave the horses so far away?_ For a moment he stood indecisively, torn between wanting to go check the other entrance for any sign of the two other Assassins and wanting to get to his horse and go nurse his wounds somewhere safe. However, he rationalized; it clearly, due to the setting sun, had taken him some time to get out of the Temple. If the others had made it, they’d have beaten him to the horses. That thought made the choice for him, and he limped towards the horses, fresh blood oozing from his thigh. He took off his sash, tying it tight above the wound. It was crude, he mused, but it would have to do.

The black gelding he affectionately called Threepio stood patiently while he heaved himself up in the saddle, his limp leg making it far more difficult than he had hoped. His gaze lingered on the other two horses longingly, but then pressed his lips together, shaking his head. _If they do make it out, they’ll need them. If not...._ He turned his gaze to the trail. _Someone will make good use of them._ With that, he turned Threepio back towards Masyaf and tried not to pass out in the saddle, every step of his horse jarring his leg and ribs with what felt like a dozen blades stabbing into it.

After ten, maybe eleven days of travel, he reached Masyaf. He bypassed the stable outside the gates, much to Threepio’s and the stableboy’s displeasure, pushing the exhausted horse all the way to the castle itself. There was absolutely _no way_ he could walk that without passing out from either blood loss, infection, or pain.

Once he was at the base of the stairs he slid out of the saddle, suppressing another pained moan as a Novice came and grabbed the reins, concern on her face and an unheard warning on her lips. Using every ounce of his self-control he schooled his face into an impassive mask of the perfect Assassin, ignoring the pain in his leg and ribs as he ascended the stairs to the Al Mualim. His hands shook so he shoved them in his robes where they wouldn’t be seen. He was so lost in maintaining his composure that he ran straight into someone else standing in front of  Al Mualim’s elaborate wood desk, not even bothering to tap into their conversation. He tamped down the pain and growled, “Get. The. _Fuck_. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“ _No_.”

As angry as he was, he wasn’t expecting the bitter reply from such a familiar voice. His head shot up to stare directly in the red rimmed and angry eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Relief flooded through him right before a hard punch landed on his cheek, sending Anakin stumbling backwards and catching himself on the rail of the loft behind him.

“ _You_ ,” Kenobi hissed, fury in his blue eyes. “It was all. Your. _Fault!_ He _died_ because you are an _arrogant, self-absorbed_ ass who wanted all the _glory!”_ With each stressed word, the redhead drove further punches into Anakin’s injured ribs and throttled him into the second Tuesday of next week, Al Mualim hissing a warning out. _“_ Well, Anakin Skywalker,” he snarled further, holding Anakin up by his fist in the man’s robes, “you have the _glory_ of being the reason Quinlan Vos is dead.” His voice, a careful, cunningly devious whisper now, chilled Anakin to the bone, the man swallowing thickly around the words that he _wished_ he could say, but knew that it would end in his death. “And don’t worry, I, the _lowly_ Obi-Wan Kenobi, completed the mission while you _LEFT US FOR DEAD!_ ” Kenobi’s anger bled into his words once more, landing another punch to the other man’s face, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction as he watched Anakin crumple against the railing. He engaged his hidden blade to go in for the kill, seeing only red, when a hand grabbed his wrist and a voice cut through the haze of rage.

“Obi-Wan, _enough_!” Al Mualim put himself between Kenobi and Skywalker’s limp body. His hold on Obi-Wan’s wrist softened, letting go, and Obi-Wan only glared at the man slowly coming to.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Kenobi snapped out under his breath in his native tongue, the harsh Gaelic falling off his lips in stark contrast to the lyrical tones of Arabic.

Anakin got to his feet, wobbling slightly before steadying. He pushed Al Mualim out of the way to get at Kenobi, anger pushing all hints of relief away. He seethed, screaming at Kenobi, “If you had _stayed behind,_ Vos would still be alive!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he lunged sloppily forward.

Kenobi took a step back, bracing himself for the blow he knew was coming with his forearm, bracer bared. When it didn’t come he warily moved his guard only to see the prone figure of Anakin lying in front of him.   _Anakin’s life for Quinlan’s, I could live with that._ He watched impassively as Al Mualim knelt down and checked his pulse, shoving the anger and pain deep inside into bitterness.

“He will be punished for his failure, Kenobi, and you will be rewarded for your loyalty and dedication to the Order. Go rest, you’re on leave for at least the next two weeks.” He knew when he was dismissed, like a scolded child, and turned to head to his quarters. He barely paused as he walked by Quinlan’s room and into his own. It wasn’t until he was stretched out on his bed that the grief, self-loathing, hate and anger boiled up inside him in the form of tears. Rage burned against his skin, turning what had once been lovely and kind into bitter agony. The tears streamed down his face for what felt like eternity, burning his skin on the outside and leaving him just ashes and a shell of the man he had once been.

A part of his heart was gone. A part of his _life,_ his soul, ripped away. And Anakin Skywalker would _pay,_ so help him.

There was no stopping his pain, his grief, as he sobbed into his pillows, hoping to ease his pain as the scent of myrrh and chamomile washed over him. He will heal, so help him, and he will torture Anakin Skywalker until the day he died.

\-------

 

Anakin came to, his blue eyes lazily opening to the dim light streaming under the bottom of the door and candle on the nightstand. _Where.... This isn’t my--_

His eyes flashed open and he threw himself out of the bed only to hit the floor on his injured side. He yelped in pain, but he scrambled upright, the stitches on his thigh tearing through his skin. He hissed in pain, but the panic was a greater threat to his sanity than a little pain. The door to his room in the healing hall was thrown open and he saw a flash of brown hair and a gold cross laying against the healer’s breastbone as she knelt beside him, grabbing his hands as he reached out to strike her.

“Shhhhh… Anakin, you’re safe in Masyaf in the halls of healing.” A hand gently stroked his head, carding through his golden hair. His breathing, rapid and shallow, tried to regulate itself with his beating heart, panic spreading through his veins like a drug. He began fighting the gentle grip of the healer, her touch familiar but still foreign, but she held on with more strength than one would expect from her lithe form.  “Breathe in and hold it Anakin. You aren’t trapped, no one’s going to hurt you. It’s just me, Padme. Your friend.”

“Padme?” His voice croaked from disuse as his breathing steadied. There, the door was open, and Padme was no ordinary healer. She was his friend. She knew what happened. He’d watched his mother die in a room just like this, a room like all the others, after she’d become ill with a minor cough. She had gone to the healer here for simple syrup to soothe her hurting throat. The syrup she’d taken caused an uncontrollable nosebleed that led to her bleeding from every orifice in her body within a day. The healer had never come to check back on her after giving her the medicine and Anakin had spent days locked in the room with his mother’s corpse until a newly arrived Padme had come to change sheets and freshen the herbs sprinkled on the floors, nearly cursing in her native Latin tongue. Rumors had it she ripped the healer a new asshole for neglecting their duty, but still, Anakin lay panicked every time he even saw a healing hall.

Padme continued to stroke his hair murmuring soothing nonsense as he held on to her for dear life. Finally when he felt calm enough he let go and allowed her to help him back to the bed. She fussed over him, chiding at him softly. “You know you shouldn’t have let these wounds go so long without being treated or even cleaned. We had to keep you sedated for weeks while we scrubbed your wounds of infection. Once again, you were lucky that nothing was anything vital-- although you will be adding some scars to your collection.” She smiled gently at him, relief on her face. Normally she was calling him names and listing all the ways he could’ve died by now. That she wasn’t spoke volumes about the state he arrived in. He hazily remembered arriving at the Keep and meeting with Al Mualim and… Kenobi?

His face ached at the hazy memory, but he opened his mouth to speak as Padme lifted a cup of water to his lips. “Did Kenobi make it back here?”

Padme pursed her lips at his question before giving a soft sigh. “Yes, he made it back but not Quinlan. Rather.... Obi-Wan Kenobi’s _body_ made it back but.... his mind, not so much. It has been two weeks since you returned, and Kenobi has not yet emerged from his rooms. We’re all worried for him, losing Quinlan was hard for him; but the behavior he’s showing is alarming.” She shook her head to clear her thoughts, lifting the cup to his lips as he took another long, greedy drink. “Let’s see how much damage you’ve done to the stitches and get these bandages changed, eaglet.”

Anakin allowed her to fuss over him, thinking over her words. _Obi-Wan will be fine._ Anakin bit his sore lip, what little of a scab that remained tugging at the sensitive flesh. _He’s always fine as long as he has his damned Creed, his damned Qu’ran, to fall back on.... Why he and Quinlan didn’t turn back when I told them I didn’t need them I'll never know; all would’ve been well if they’d just stayed behind, no one would’ve died._

He winced as Padme re-stitched the wound on his thigh but didn’t murmur a complaint. She was nagging him about the state his now-torn flesh was in, but he tuned her out, keeping his mind focused on anything but the pain. Long ago he’d learned that complaining led to healers wanting to give you something for the pain and that was something he’d vehemently refuse. Padme knew not to fight him on such matters and typically stuck to poultices. Still, occasionally she insisted on some vile concoction, but he’d watch her prepare it from beginning to end just in case.

“Well, could've been worse, I suppose.” She hummed her approval at her work and stood. “But you need to stay off your feet for another few days. Now that the infection is clear we can move you to a room with a window....” Her brown eyes flicked to him, sighing. “I just don't want to push the chances of it becoming infected again. We had to cut so much rotting skin from your leg that I'm surprised there was anything left to heal.”

He grasped her hand in his as she moved to walk out, “Thank you, Padme. For your concern and your help.” He returned the gentle smile she flashed at him as she walked out of the door, leaving it partially open. It was then that he realized just how tired he felt and --

 _That bitch._ He fought hopelessly against the sleeping medicine she’s sneakily given him, but eventually the darkness overtook him and spiraled him into a dreamless sleep.

 

Anakin woke with a start sometime early the next morning when someone slipped in his room, trying to be quiet. Fighting back the panic, he laid quietly before the footfalls gave away the intruder, “Mace, to what do I owe the pleasure this time?”

Mace gave up on trying to be stealthy and walked normally further in the room. “Al Mualim has summoned for you. He offered my assistance to help you get there if you weren’t feeling up to it.”

Anakin could practically see the sneer on Mace’s face at his words. “I will go, I don’t need your assistance,” he shot back.

When Mace didn’t move from his spot at the foot of his bed, Anakin growled out, “If you _must_ escort me out, then at least wait outside the door.” The only reply he received was a scoff and the sound of the door opening and closing.

He sat up in the bed, letting his legs slide off the bed before using the bedpost to stand fully upright. His legs trembled with exertion but there was only a twinge of pain as he took it step by step over to the table where his white Master Assassin robes and weapons were. Mentally he sent, _Thank you, Padme’s God, for sending such an angel here. Maybe you are real like she says you are,_ before letting the hospital pants slide to the ground in favor of his soft white wool pants. He cautiously eased his undershirt on, minding the tight pull of still-healing skin as he lifted his arm. His white overtunic went next, the tails brushing against his calves in a soft caress of fabric.  

Slowly he sat down to pull on his leather boots and buckled the hardened leather greaves around his calves. He wrapped the red sash denoting his Master Assassin around his waist before securing the intricately carved leather belt with his pouches and knives over the sash. His hands caressed the hood sitting to the side of his weapons before settling it on his head and attaching the ties to his overtunic. He slid the short sword in it’s scabbard against his thigh before buckling on the knife harness around his chest. The lone bracer was secured on his right wrist before his fingers danced over the weapon that marked him as an Assassin, his hidden blade.

Knowing Mace would be ready to barge back in the room if he tarried any longer, he slid the hidden blade over his left wrist and buckled it in place. A quick flex of his wrist and the blade slid smoothly out between his middle and pinky finger, where his ring finger used to be before he’d passed his trials. He investigated the scarring for a moment, then nodded.

Shrouded in his finery, power seemed to radiate from him in the form of confidence. The hood cast his face in shadow, darkening his scowl from Mace as he swung the door open to the impatient man leaning against the wall opposite his door. He continued past Mace without a word, turning down the hall that would take him to the main portion of the Keep. The stairs leading up to the second floor balcony where Al Mualim had his office were much easier this time around, though it did wind him a bit. There was still a small ache in his leg and they trembled a little from lack of use, but his gait was sure and his steps steady as he walked to stand in front of the large desk.

Anakin bowed in respect to Al Mualim, “You summoned me, Master?” He took note of the round golden orb that perched on a little stand at the edge of the desk. _So Kenobi did actually retrieve the Artifact, but how? He had no idea what to look for._ His gaze shifted up to the man he considered his father, who had taken him in after the death of his mother.

There was no one Anakin respected more than Al Mualim; he had been a respected Assassin in his younger days and now lead the Levantine Brotherhood with confidence. The Brotherhood has flourished under his guidance the thirty years and he showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Wizened brown eyes met Anakin’s stormy blues and he felt his stomach sink. Normally Al Mualim looked at him with a mixture of paternal care, pride, and long suffering, but right now his gaze was hard and flinty. Anakin bowed his head, shoulders and posture sagging under the weight of that stare. “Master, I-” he began to explain.

Al Mualim cut him off swiftly, “No excuses, Anakin. I’ve accepted them too many times and it has made you blind to your faults. You are arrogant and over-confident! You do not follow the tenets of our Creed!”

Anakin bowed up at Al Mualim, “Was it not you who said, ‘Nothing is true, _everything_ is permitted?’”

Al Mualim’s voice was full of venom, “You do not understand the true meaning of the phrase, my child. It does not grant you the freedoms to do as you wish. It is a knowledge meant to guide your senses. It expects a wisdom you clearly lack.”

He met his master’s gaze evenly, schooling the emotion out of his face once more and forcing the fight out of his body language. His voice was flat, “Then what is to become of me?”

“I should kill you for the pain you’ve brought upon us. Kenobi has demanded your life in exchange for the loss of Vos, but this would be a waste of my time and your talents. Instead you are being stripped of your possessions and rank.” Al Mualim began stripping off his weapons, throwing them on the desk behind him. Anakin struggled not to fight against the loss of the things he treasured most, trying to be grateful that his master had not given in to Kenobi’s demand.

“You are a Novice, a child once more, as you were when I took you in.”  His belt and the blood red sash that marked him as a Master Assassin were yanked off and added to the pile. When his master was done, nothing remained except his hidden blade; he’d even been stripped of his bracer and greaves. He felt naked and more vulnerable than he had in years, a novice indeed. _How Quinlan Vos would laugh if he could see me now._

“But,” Al Mualim huffed, eyes disappointed. “I’m offering you a chance at redemption. You will have to _earn_ your way back to the Brotherhood, the same way you came in. Prove to me you know what is it to be an Assassin and to follow our Creed. I will be assigning you missions through our new Master of Contracts. You must do everything yourself; no one is allowed to help you on your missions, not that your arrogance would allow for that. If I learn of any of your brothers helping, you lose your chance of re-entering the Brotherhood and they will be punished severely. You are to be confined to the Keep when you are not on a mission. While on a mission, everything you do must be approved by the Rafiq of the bureau.” Al Mualim’s gaze softened a hair, “Follow the Creed, do as I say, and you _will_ be restored to the Brotherhood. You are dismissed.”

Anakin grit his teeth, struggling to accept Al Mualim’s authority instead of fighting it. He bowed, turning on his heels and walking back down the stairs. Mace was grinning gleefully at the bottom of the stairs but he ignored him, as he always did. He caught a flash of white robe and a ginger head in the corner of his eye past the shelves of books but when he turned to confront the man he was nowhere to be seen. Instead he stormed off to one of the towers, away from everyone so they couldn’t see how far the mighty Anakin Skywalker, the eagle of Masyaf, had fallen.

 -------

 

_Stripped of his rank._

Kenobi scoffed to himself as he stared at the cloth dummy in front of him in the training ring, auburn hair falling into his piercing blue eyes. His hands, half-assed wrapped with gifted bandages from Padme, were open, knuckles bloody through the white cloth that covered them.

Night had fallen on Masyaf, the stars glittering brightly above him and the full moon washing everything a silvery white.

He couldn't remember the time when he first decided to spar with the dummy, chiseled muscle in trained lethality pounding against layered cotton, but he didn't want to stop.

“Obi-Wan.”

He ignored the voice, singing to him in Gaelic like his mother once had, instead pounding against the dummy with renewed agony and rage.

“Obi-Wan, you need to stop.”

With a last roar, he sent his bare foot flying against the head of the dummy, knocking it clear out of the hole the post was propped in. It lay six feet away from the Scot, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him from raging further.

The slim fingers of Satine Kryze on his shoulder gently turned him towards her, the woman small in the shadow of the taller man. “Hurting yourself won't bring Quinlan back, darling. You know that.”

Obi-Wan only looked away, his hands shaking with rage and exhaustion.

She took his face in her hands, her black scarf hiding her reddish hair from his gaze and her gray eyes seemed to stare through his soul. “You can't bring him back, but you can honor his memory. I know you....” Her face twisted in indecision, the French-born woman searching for the right word before she could continue. “I know you loved him, Obi-Wan, we all did. Anakin is just a brat.”

“A brat that deserved to _die_ for his mistakes.” Kenobi snarled out under his breath.

“I agree,” she hummed, patting his head. “Talk to Al Mualim about it. Maybe he can provide some insight. Also, your copy of _The Tale of Genji_ is six days overdue.”

A sigh of amusement left the nose of the Scot, pressing his hand over his chest and nodding to her. “Thank you, Bookmaster Kryze. What would I ever do without your thoughtful guidance?”

She playfully whacked his bare chest, rolling her eyes. “Go get cleaned up and speak to Al Mualim in the morning, and go see Padme if you need something to help you sleep.”

“I would prefer to keep my body clear of toxins, as Allah commanded,” Kenobi nodded, smiling at the ground.

She smiled gently, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “You, Obi-Wan Kenobi, are a truly devout Muslim. _Asalaamu alaikum wa rahmatullah_ , darling.”

He briefly hugged her back, watching her as she left the ring and followed after a few minutes, heading to his quarters and washing up. _God bless you, darling._

It had been four weeks, he realized. Four weeks since Quinlan had died, and the scruff that had grown across his sharp jaw was almost fitting, in a way, and the dark circles under his eyes ushering in a new level of pale across his skin.

He washed up with cold water and started the fire in his room, water still dripping from his cut arms. Blood stained his floor and some rags, but he didn’t reach for them as he sat in front of the sparking fire. Desert nights were cold, even in the mountains like Masayf was. Soft cotton hung from his hips, the sharp, hard angles of his body more prominent than ever. Bread and cheese sat in a dark corner; a note was scrawled on the platter, Padme’s neat left-handed writing spelling out a gentle note of love and appreciation. A small smile graced his tired face, and he swallowed down the food, chasing it with water. He almost immediately felt better, collapsing onto his bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

That morning, he dressed quickly, tying his sash tightly around his waist as he stormed up to Al Mualim, eyes tight with rage. “You refused to kill him. Why? Was Quinlan's life not worth that _brat’s?”_

Al Mualim stood, old eyes scanning the spines of his many books as he contemplated Obi-Wan’s words. “It would be a waste of his talents.”

“A waste,” Kenobi deadpanned, his face a solid sheet of shock, “of _his talents?”_

Al Mualim pulled his choice book out from the shelves, hefting it in his hand as if testing the weight. “Do you remember how you came to me, Obi-Wan?”

“I was an orphan on the streets of Acre,” Kenobi began. “My parents were Catholic missionaries that were killed by the Crusaders when they refused to kneel to an ungodly system.”

“Correct. And who was it that spared you, gave you a place to rest your head and a purpose when I should have cut off your hand for stealing, as is the custom?”

Kenobi’s jaw clenched. “You, Al Mualim.”

“Exactly. You are in no position to question my mercy to Anakin Skywalker when you yourself have been at the receiving end, even recently with your promotion.” Al Mualim slammed his chosen book on his desk, the loud noise causing the Assassin to flinch. “Are you questioning my mercy, _Master of Contracts?”_

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. _This bastard_. “No, not at all, Al Mualim. Forgive me.”

Al Mualim nodded, waving his hand as a dismissal for Kenobi. The ginger bowed before trotting down to the library wing, pressing his book against the flat of his back even as his blood stained the sleeves of his robe.

Satine looked up at the man as he entered, eyebrow raising. “Master Kenobi, to what do I owe this _rare_ pleasure of seeing you?”

A sly smile cut across his face. “I could think of a few things.”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Hand it over.”

Kenobi set the book in her hand, the woman tracing her fingers along the legend on her desk. “Seven days overdue,” she intoned. “Seven akce fee.” He groaned, opening his mouth to bargain for a better price, but a stern look from the hijabi made him shut it. A gloved hand dipped into his money pouch, placing the seven coins on the desk.

“The Assassin Library thanks you,” she winked, turning away from him.

He playfully stuck his tongue out at her, then left, walking down the aisles upon aisles of books.

He paused upon spotting a Torah, the leather cover old and worn and the Hebrew inside faded and almost unreadable. His hand reached out, fingers brushing over the gold leaf Star of David on the spine, and felt a twinge of sadness for his friend.

_I miss you, Quinlan Vos._

But he knew, especially now with his new promotion, he had Anakin Skywalker wrapped around his finger. A sly smile crossed his lips; revenge would be sweet. It always was. _Allah would find my plan just, I believe._ He bit his lip, shrugging. _I will pay my dues when I face him at the end of this life, regardless of how he believes me._

 -------

 

“He proves to be stronger and more resilient than I’ve given him credit for,” Ventress whispered to Maul, her angry eyes watching the man resting on the Assassin tied to the stone slab in his castle. The large, bulky man only rolled his eyes, sighing.

“I had faith in you, Asajj Ventress,” Maul sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll handle it from here.”

“No, please don’t, sir,” Ventress quickly rushed out, her icy gaze lingering on the sleeping Assassin. “I have a plan, and to be fair.... I’m having _fun_.” Her smile was sickeningly evil, but deep inside her, her stomach turned at her actions. But she expertly hid it from him, eyes glinting red in the darkness.

Maul grinned at her, clapping her on the shoulder. “I knew it would grow on you, my dear. I’ll be in the dining hall if you need me.”

She nodded, humming her assent and understanding as she opened the cell door, stepping into the room as she closed it behind her.

“The White Witch joins me in my misery,” the man barked a harsh laugh.

Ventress grinned in response, “Hello my pretty.” As her gaze looked over his body her head tilted, tsking with her tongue, “Well, you were pretty once. Now you better hope that the phrase ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ is true.”

“So you do think I'm pretty…” Quinlan would've waggled his eyebrows except that his face was too swollen from the beatings he received in the past month.

Beatings were preferable to the majority of the torture he'd received if he were honest. Everything physical would heal, given enough time and proper medical attention. But slowly, Ventress’s words of hate had begun to slither into his thoughts like poison, the woman’s mouth like a slithering snake. _I'm beginning to think the bitch is actually right, no one is coming for me. I'd thought at least Kenobi would have attempted. Maybe he and Anakin both died at the Temple. Maybe my sacrifice was pointless._ The last thought was more painful than any torture Ventress could inflict upon him. If _Kenobi_ had given up, if it really was true, then there was no hope for him. _Time to accept my fate, the only escape from here is death. No one is coming, no one even knows I'm missing._ He slumped into the restraints, head banging against the stone.

Ventress sighed, mock pity in her voice. “Oh, what’s wrong, dear Assassin?” The edge of her razor-sharp blade danced across his bared abdomen, blood sliding down his torso. “Have you finally lost hope?”

“You know what, you witch,” Vos chuckled hoarsely, grinning, “I’m starting to think you actually _like_ me.”

Her knife pierced his skin a little deeper than usual, and he grunted with the pain. “Or not.” _All I need to do is provoke her into killing me. It'll be quicker than whatever Maul has planned for me._ He suppressed a shudder at the thought, the one time Maul had tortured him he'd almost given in then and there.

“Lucky for you, I have orders to keep you alive. So short of killing you or permanently damaging you, there’s little else I _can’t_ do to you.” She rolled her icy eyes, her hair now overgrown and unkempt like Quinlan’s own, but at least it was clean.

“You look pretty with your hair like that,” he grinned. “Like an albino angel of death.”

She grinned wickedly, leaning down towards his face and pressing her hand against a broken rib. “Give in, Quinlan Vos. Give in to me, pledge fealty to me and my master, and this all ends.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, if we met in another life, Asajj Ventress, you would be in my bed. You’re strong, I like that. But I will _never_ serve the Templar.”

Her smile turned seductive and her hand softly caressed his jaw, “But you'd be swearing your fealty to me, first and foremost. Or are you all talk?” She softly stroked his inner thigh with the flat of her knife, the cold metal leaving a trail of goosebumps on his skin.

Quinlan fought the urge to flinch away as her knife neared his groin. So far that part of him had been left alone except for the occasional kick or punch. “I don't know what you're talking about, gorgeous. I can back up every bit of talk if you'd let me.” He managed a piss poor wink at her.

The knife cut a line very near the apex of his thigh and groin, forcing a groan of pain through his chapped lips. He felt the ghost of her breath in his ear as she whispered, “If you swear fealty to me, maybe that could be arranged. Refuse and you might find yourself no longer a man.”

 _With a threat like that, what man could refuse?_ Quinlan thought. The knife crept even closer and he could feel his balls trying to hide as far up in his body as possible. He grimaced, “And if I do swear fealty to you, what then?”

A sly grin cut across the chiseled face of the woman, her free hand trailing a gentle touch from his collar to his navel, fingertips gripping into the tender, inflamed flesh there. “I’ll give you a chance to fulfill what you seem so _eager_ to perform.” Her hand trailed further up his chest, gripping his jaw in a firm, yet tender vice. “What say you, Assassin?”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he grinned, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he was kidding or not. The cool steel seemed to inch closer with every passing second, and he chewed on his chapped, weathered lips. “Say I do. Then what?”

“Past that, I’m afraid I can’t say what may become of you. My master has plans for you, Quinlan Vos. Plans that will lead you to greatness.... All you have to do is give in to me. Give me your blade in fealty and I can give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.” She grinned, pressing a gentle kiss to his ear and nipping at the lobe.

“The fuck kind of a woman are you,” he groaned, hands clenching at his sides.

“The worst and the best,” she grinned, and her blue eyes lingered on his brown for longer than they should have. “You have thirty seconds.”

Quinlan felt her knife drifting closer to his manhood and made his decision in an instant. Gritting his teeth he nodded, “I swear my blade and fealty to you.” Immediately the knife left and he released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, hiding his grin of relief in the form of a smug watchfulness.

Ventress took a step back, a smug smile gracing her lips. _Every man has the same weakness, it seems. I'm just glad he gave in; I'd hate to lose such a nice specimen._

“Sooooooo…. Are you going to let me up now?” The only response he got was the sound of the door closing behind her. He mumbled to himself, “Guess not. No rush, not like I'm uncomfortable or anything…”

Minutes ticked by like hours, but she came back, the asshole -- er, man -- named Robert de Maul trailing behind her. He stared down at him, studying him. “Um... Who talks first? I talk first? You talk first?”

“Seems his spirit still remains,” Maul scoffed, glaring at him.

“I personally like it, really. So many of your Knights are dull, bland, _aggressive._ He’s....” She rambled something in French, the sound still as foreign to him as the first time he heard it. “You see?”

Maul nodded. “I doubted you, Ventress, and you have my utmost apologies. It seems that you _are_ capable of breaking even an Assassin without nearly killing them. How’d you do it?”

She smirked down at Quinlan, petting his hair and winking at him. “A woman has her ways.”

“She threatened to cut my dick off,” Vos deadpanned. “I have plans for this thing, you know. Maybe a family, or just a good woman. Contrary to popular belief, not _all_ Assassins are drug-addicted monks in the mountains.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “You’re something else, Quinlan Vos. A fine addition to the Order, indeed.”

“Okay, that’s cool, but I really need to pee, and like, I can’t do that laying down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're trying to keep up with weekly updates. Currently writing Chapter 3 so hope to see you next weekend!
> 
> -Icse & Sid


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay this week! Took a bit longer to get it done as we got distracted. Enjoy!

Anakin had finally received the summons from the Master of Contracts for his first target. The note had been left on his bed sitting on a pile of several neatly folded novice grays and dark burgundy sashes. He scowled,  _ They better not have done what I think they did.  _ He quickly opened the chest where he kept his clothing and noticed all of his Assassin clothing missing.  _ Someone is going to pay for this. Pay dearly.  _

Angrily he finished towelling his hair, slightly damp still from the bath he'd taken, and pulled on the rough gray overtunic. It was a far cry from the soft whites he'd been wearing for years. In all honesty, he should have seen this coming and stashed a few of his uniforms away.  _ At least they aren't forcing me to cut my hair. _ He finished dressing, once again feeling naked without all of his armor and weapons he'd been carrying for nearly six years. He felt like he was fifteen again on his first assignment by himself except instead of giddy excitement he was furious. 

As he made his way to the new Master of gear  Contracts’ office, he wondered who had replaced the old man that Al Mualim had appointed before Anakin had even been born. He'd never bothered to learn the grumpy man's name, preferring to get his orders and go with as little conversation as possible.  _ Maybe I should have tried to catch up with the news instead of avoiding everyone this time. Though, as long as it's not Mace I can live with whoever it is.  _ He knocked briefly before pushing open the door and stepping in. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi was all but bouncing with glee in his seat as he would finally get to impart the beginning of his revenge on Anakin Skywalker. After appealing to Al Mualim again, he'd been given the consent to retaliate against Anakin with the only stipulations of not harming or killing him and not impeding him in his missions. Quickly he'd set his plans in motion. First he'd broken into Anakin's room, removing all of Anakin's Assassin whites and replaced them with Novice Grays while he was taking a bath. Now there was only one thing left to complete the transformation to Novice. Typically the shearing was done with more ceremony, the Novice receiving their first set of grays and a quick shear before the next Novice was sent through. It was a rite of passage and the newly initiated Novices wore their short hair with pride. 

His could barely contain his anticipation as he heard the knock at the door. He quickly moved the shears to a more prominent spot on his desk before Anakin stepped through the door. He savored the look of horror and fury in Anakin's eyes as he saw the shears on the desk. His sadistic grin widened, “Hello,  _ Novice. _ ”

The look Anakin gave to Obi-Wan had sent lesser men running. “You are  _ not _ cutting my hair, Obi-Wan.” 

“That's  _ Master _ Kenobi to you,  _ Novice. _ ” 

Anakin looked on with hatred and malice. “No.” 

“Fine then. I’ll tell Al Mualim you’re being difficult, refusing to give into my orders as your  _ superior _ officer, and then there goes your little chance at redemption.”

Anakin ground his teeth together, “I doubt Al Mualim has ordered this. I will be restored to my rightful rank shortly.” 

“You'll always be a novice _ , Novice.” _ Kenobi sneered, “No matter what color you're wearing or the length of your hair. Now sit like a good boy or this is considered a refusal to follow orders.” He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. 

Anakin hesitated, hovering in front of the chair. Anger was rolling under his skin and his body was tight with tension, muscles bunching and ready to strike. He met Kenobi's smug gaze before rigidly sitting down in the chair, back straight as a board. 

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to pat Anakin's head, knowing he had to walk a fine line between humiliating him and breaking him. Breaking would come much later, first he had to establish control. He picked up the shears, grabbing handfuls of the thick dirty blonde locks and cutting them short. The hair was softer than he anticipated, fine and silky. A small part of him mourned their loss but that was quickly squashed by the satisfaction of watching Anakin flinch with each snip of the shears. He could almost hear Vos,  _ You know, Kenobi, you don't have to make it look nice.  _

As the last piece of hair fell to the ground, Anakin felt the last of his dignity give way. His thoughts turned morose,  _ What else is there for them to take? My dignity and pride have been stripped bare.  _ The anger fled and in its place he felt resignation.  _ Everything I have worked for is gone. I am a disgrace to the Order.  _ He watched as Obi-Wan sat back down at his desk. “Who is my target?” his voice was flat and emotionless, refusing to give Kenobi the satisfaction of knowing just how far he'd gotten under his skin. 

“Tsk. Tsk. Ask nicely, Novice.” Obi-Wan was enjoying this far too much. Despite the temptation to leave Anakin's hair embarrassingly horrible, he'd done a reasonable job. Most of it was perhaps an inch long or shorter. He was sure Padme or someone else could even it all out.  _ Not that I care. _

An ache was starting in his jaw by the sheer amount of time he'd spent clenching his teeth. Anakin fought to keep his voice flat and from stabbing Kenobi in the face with the shears. “Will you please tell me who is my target,  _ Master Kenobi _ ?”

There was a stupidly pleased grin on Obi-Wan’s face,  _ I really didn't think he'd give in so easily.  _ “Your first target is in Damascus, a Rako Hardeen. Suspected to be a black market arms dealer and Templar.” He reached to hand a piece of paper with the bare bone information but let it go right before Anakin could grab it, the paper falling to the ground. “Oops. Don't forget that everything must be done by you and the Rafiq of Damascus must approve everything.”

Anakin snatched the paper off the ground before getting up to leave. He gave a barely acceptable bow--more a nod of his head--before walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him. 

_ Next time I need to make sure he thanks me. _ Kenobi kicked his feet up on his desk, basking in the absolute success he'd had in humiliating Anakin. He bit his lip, grinning in his sadistic high.  _ Now I need to send Rafiq Krell a message to make sure Anakin does everything by the books exactly. I'm sure Krell will enjoy this immensely.  _

\-------

Damascus. 

If Anakin never saw this city again, it would be too soon. In fact, he was pretty sure he said that every time he saw this place.

The spring rains had come across the desert, and the sand had become a treacherous journey through hell. As he entered the Damascus bureau, dropping down from the gardened ceiling above, he angrily shook the sand from his shoes and his robes, muttering, “I hate sand.”

“Novice Skywalker!” Rafiq Pong Krell bellowed from the living quarters, shortly thereafter darting out from said quarters. The tall man stood easily a foot taller than him, his eyes a seemingly yellow color under his dark dreadlocked hair. “Well, I’ll be damned. I never thought I would see the day.”

“If you’re quite done,” Skywalker hissed, backing up a few steps. He and Krell did  _ not _ get along, ever, and the ridiculous height difference made the man a little uncomfortable, to say the least. Not to mention the fact that Krell was well-known for his combat prowess, even now that he was retired from combat.... But he still, clearly, kept up his physique. The man’s bicep was as big as Anakin’s head, and he wished he was kidding. 

“I’m not,” Krell grinned, standing back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Hells, who cut your hair?” 

“Kenobi,” Anakin grit out, suppressing his fury.  _ If he fucked that up, the first thing I will do when I get my Master robes back is stain them with his blood. _

“It looks  _ fantastic, _ ” Krell grinned, amusement on his face. “Well. Come in, come in, I made some tea. But you can’t have any, of course.” 

“Thanks, but I’ll pass on that tea, Rafiq Krell.” Anakin didn't like tea anyways. He was more of a coffee person. 

“That’s my boy!” Krell boomed, grinning down at him and clapping the dirty blonde on the shoulder. “So, your target--” 

“Is Rako Hardeen, yes, I know,” Anakin cut him off, impatiently shifting back and forth on his feet. “Just give me the feather so I can get this over with.” 

Krell looked at him with a sense of indignant fury, yellowish eyes glaring at him, but there was a dark amusement under it, as if Skywalker was playing into every hand the Rafiq knew. “That’s awfully rude, cutting off your superior like that.” 

_ Kenobi had to put him up to this. There’s no other explanation. _ Anakin forced out a smile, pressing his hand against his chest in apology. “Forgive me, Rafiq Krell. I did not mean to come across rudely. I am simply anxious to get this over with.” 

Krell grinned, tongue poking the inside of his cheek with amusement. “Apology accepted, Novice Skywalker. Now, as I was saying,” he continued, turning his back to the novice as he pulled a ledger off the shelf behind him, “your target is Rako Hardeen, an arms dealer in league with both the Templar and the Crusaders.” 

“I’d sooner kill all the Crusaders and rid our land of their stink,” Anakin scoffed under his breath. “Templars, each and every one of them.” 

Krell paused, staring at the younger man before him. “Watch that mouth, Skywalker. You must understand, not all the Crusaders are Templar, and not all Templar are Crusaders. Isn’t your friend Padme Amidala, the healer, a Crusader?” 

“She was,” Anakin huffed. “She swore them off when she joined the Assassins.” 

“No,” Krell sighed, shaking his head. “You still have so much to learn. You truly are a novice. I wondered why Al Mualim gave you your Master’s robes when you were clearly not ready for them.” 

“I was ready!” Anakin snapped, and Krell’s eye twitched, the man shaking his head. 

“Go, gather your information. Start in the market. Come back to me when you think you have enough.” Krell took the ledger and pored over it, looking up at Anakin after a moment. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get out of my sight!” 

Anakin immediately scampered out, chasing out across the city. The market wasn’t hard to find, a large monstrosity that took up a good portion of the poor district. He spent the majority of the next day eavesdropping or pickpocketing a few letters pertaining to Hardeen. These were things he hadn’t done since he was a Novice himself, things far beneath his skill level. If nothing else they had informants throughout that sent the same information he was currently gathering, all he was doing was confirming the information he knew Krell already had.

After he had gathered enough information, Anakin returned to the Bureau. Rafiq Krell gestured for him to come further in, setting down the paperwork he’d been going through.

“Back so soon? I didn’t think you could be so stealthy anymore. I didn’t hear the city alarm bells ring once.”

Gritting his teeth, Anakin fought back his angry reply. If he gave in to Krell’s provocation, he knew Krell would send him on some bullshit errand just to prove his point. “I have done as you asked. Now give me the feather.”

Krell’s laugh echoed through the Bureau, “So easy it must be for you. First things first. Tell me what you know.”

“Hardeen rules over the Souk Al-Silaah. He makes his fortune selling arms and armor, and is supported by many in this endeavor. Blacksmiths, traders, financiers. He's the single largest death-dealer in the land.” Anakin replied, keeping his voice level and his expressions hidden by the darkness of his hood. His fists clenched behind his back, though, muscles twitching with his impatience.

“And what of your plot to kill him? Will this involve my city in an uproar, his death cried before his body has even cooled?” Krell prodded, knowing most of Anakin’s assassinations were loud and public affairs, far unbecoming of any real Assassin. But, Krell would never admit,  _ very _ entertaining. 

“A meeting is being arranged at Souk Al-Silaah to discuss an important sale. They say it's the largest deal Hardeen has ever made. He'll be distracted with his work. That's when I'll strike, using my blade while concealed in a nearby crowd.” 

Krell considered his words, his gaze feeling like it pierced through the darkness overshadowing Anakin’s face and weighing him in addition to his  words. After a moment he nodded, “Your plan seems solid enough. I give you leave to go.” He pulled a feather from the box under the counter and set it in front of Anakin.

As Anakin went to grab the feather, Krell grabbed his wrist tightly, “Follow the Creed, Anakin. This is not made to be a public affair but one of a deed done in the shadows. No one should know who it was that struck the killing blow.  _ Don't _ fuck this up.” He loosened his grip, “Let Al Mualim’s will be done. You may rest here until you’re ready.”

Wrenching his arm away from Krell, he took his feather and darted up the wall and out of the Bureau. He didn’t trust Krell to leave him alone during his sleep, and besides, once the grate was sealed over the Bureau Anakin felt far too trapped with no windows. Instead he found an abandoned rooftop garden and managed to settle down in it to a fitful, restless slumber. 

Dawn in Damascus was a loud affair, especially in the warmer months, and it stirred him from his dulled rest. Merchants were shouting their wares out and setting up to sell, women were going to fetch their water for the day, laborers were headed to their work, Imams were making the call for prayers and dutiful Muslims were answering. 

Briefly, Anakin’s mind rested bitterly on Kenobi; the man was utterly devout to his faith, and it made him a bit of a killjoy. Dust already rose into the air, reminding the Assassin that it was going to be another hot and dry day in the city. Anakin hated mornings like this, and with summer quickly approaching, it was only going to get worse. No one wanted to be in the sun while it was like this.  _ Which is good for me; means more people will be in the covered market. More people, more cover. _

Quietly, he slipped from the rooftop garden and onto the streets, merging with the crowd seamlessly as he followed it towards Souk Al-Silaah. He took a quick detour at a nearby fountain, filling his waterskin and splashing some of the cool water on his face and neck. The Assassin even allowed himself a moment of rest, soaking in the sun to warm up his stiff muscles. 

There were several people doing the same thing near him, getting ready for the day to begin in the large market. It was still early enough that there weren’t many people circulating through, so he found a bench and sat down, waiting for the day to get closer to the meeting time. The man he interrogated hadn’t known the exact time of the meeting, only that it was somewhere before the midday call to prayer. 

The market’s dull noise was familiar in a way that Masayf was; the quiet determination of the merchants, the loud anger of the others being priced out, all aggressive and gentle at the same time. The noise dulled in its speed the closer it grew to midday. Merchants were replaced by Imams, shouting out for Muslims to come to prayer. 

Damascus, being a mostly Muslim city, almost immediately drained of its people. Some women and men remained, allowing for easier sightlines and more difficult escapes. 

_ That informant better not have been wrong,  _ Anakin hissed.  _ I killed him anyway, but still. I'll resurrect him and kill him again.  _

Almost as if on cue, the man he could only assume was Rako Hardeen emerged from one of the alleyways, flanked by no less than two guards. His vision flashed for a moment, lighting his target up in a golden haze. He’d never questioned his ability to just know which target was what or the color auras people would give off, but it’d always proven very handy when trailing targets. 

Slipping into a small crowd of people he tailed Hardeen into the market, trailing him through it until his target stopped at a merchant. Quietly, he moved closer, keeping an eye on where the guards were in relation to his target. It looked like Hardeen and the other man were getting in a heated discussion, people starting to mill closer out of curiosity.  _ Perfect, guards are distracted with keeping people away, Hardeen distracted with merchant. _

When Hardeen stabbed the merchant he presented the perfect opportunity for Anakin to strike. As people ran by to escape the scene he drew closer to his target before engaging his hidden blade and stabbing Hardeen through the throat. Immediately the world fell away into a gray haze of just him and Hardeen. These moments after assassination he’d never told to anyone, not even Al Mualim, much like the auras surrounding people. It didn’t seem to happen with every assassination, but those targets that had the golden aura it happened with more than others. 

Gently he laid Hardeen down to the ground, “Be at peace, Hardeen. You’ll not profit from suffering any longer.”

The arms dealer laughed, blood bubbling on his lips, “You think me a petty death-dealer, suckling at the breast of war? A strange target, don't you think? Why me, when so many others do the same?”

“You think you’re different?”

“Oh, but I am! For I serve a far nobler cause than mere profit. I am but a piece. A man with a part to play. You'll come to know my brothers soon enough. They won't take kindly to what you've done.” 

Anakin grinned ferally, “Good. I look forward to ending their lives as well.”

“Such pride. It will destroy you, child.” With Hardeen’s final words the gray haze faded into reality and chaos as the body fell in front of Anakin. Quickly, he dragged the white feather across the bloody neck and used the panicking crowd to cover his retreat to a nearby roof, out of sight from any guards or witnesses. When no alarm bells rang or shouts came about an assassin for an hour, he made his way back to the Bureau. 

“Well, I’m thoroughly impressed,” Krell grinned as Anakin dropped into the bureau. “No alarms, no cries of death; so far so good, Novice Skywalker.” 

“Rafiq Krell,” Anakin nodded. “It’s good to see you too.” He dropped the feather alongside the man’s ledger, not wishing to stain the blood with blackened ink, and Krell gazed at it for a moment before dropping it into the case. 

“It’s a shame that you were not this efficient or stealthy in all your killings. The other Assassins might have actually respected you.” Krell hummed, yellowish eyes sparkling.

“I do not care what the others think of me.” Anakin huffed. He tried to convince himself the statement was true even as Krell stared him down. 

“Get some rest, then. Leave for Masyaf come morning, I’m certain there is more work for you to do.” 

\-------

Krell’s messenger bird only beat Anakin’s arrival by one day. When he received the note from one of the acolytes a part of him became giddy with excitement.  _ Let’s hope Krell gave him absolute hell and he failed. Or he showed his usual blatant respect for the Creed so we can dispense with this farce of a redemption. _

The message written sent him into a fit of rage, slamming his fist into the sturdy wooden desk and scattering most of the neat piles across the floor. That only served to piss him off more so he stood, flipping his desk on its side and continuing with his destruction. 

“Now he  _ dares  _ to succeed,” Kenobi snarled, the Gaelic falling off his tongue. A book went flying across the room, and he was  _ certain _ he heard Satine cry out in pain. He went to throw his fist through the nearest item, but the skin dangled precariously above the mirrored glass as Kenobi stared into it, shock radiating from his gaze. His hair had grown longer, considerably. The stubble that had once dusted his cheeks had grown into a full beard, and tired blue eyes stared out from above them, sunken deep into their pale sockets. 

“Kenobi!” 

The ginger's head snapped away, total serenity replacing his tempered curiosity. Al Mualim stood in front of him, blue eyes blazing. “What is the meaning of this?” 

“I lost my temper, sir,” Kenobi nodded, bowing to him. “I will have it cleaned momentarily.” 

“You’d better,” Mualim snarled, gazing around the room. “If I don't know any better, I’d say you're trying to  _ make  _ Anakin fail.” 

“All due respect, sir,” Obi-Wan bowed, “he  _ did  _ kill my friend. And as my right put forth in the Qu’ran--”

“ _ To hell with your Qu’ran!” _ Palpatine shouted back, eyes narrowed. “You are disobeying  _ direct orders. _ ” 

“You said I couldn't take his life. What others do, though, is up to them.” Kenobi bit back his bitterness, and then said, “If he succeeds, he grows stronger. They are the challenges he should have faced as a novice and didn't.” He crossed his arms over his chest, grinning. “The young Skywalker should be thanking  _ me.”  _

Al Mualim scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Be careful, Kenobi. You may fall into the same trap.” He gestured around the office, disgust on his face. “And clean this up.” 

He stalked down the hallway away, his guards closing in behind him. 

_ How odd; the most deadly Assassin needs protection,  _ Obi-Wan murmured, and then set to work cleaning his office. 

\-------

Masyaf’s gates were a welcome sight after his trip to Damascus, especially with the thought of rubbing his success in Kenobi’s face. Anakin knew the mission had been one at the novice level, but still, it had been done extremely well without any kind of assistance. There was no way Kenobi could find fault if Krell couldn’t find it. Krell had hated him for far longer. 

Whistling tunelessly he bounced up the stairs to the stairs, headed straight to report to Kenobi and get that part over with so he could enjoy his downtime before heading out for the next target.  _ Maybe I should see if Padme will fix my hair while I’m here. I’m sure it looks horrible if Krell commented on it. _ When he arrived to Kenobi’s office the door was open and the man himself peering over papers. The look that came across his face went from one of concentration to that of eating a sour fruit. Anakin couldn’t help but smirk.

Obi-Wan’s mood soured even further at the smirk on Anakin’s face. Desperately, he wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face but the recent warning from Al Mualim lingered. Instead he sat back and crossed his arms, voice laced with sarcasm, “You’ve done well,  _ Novice _ , and I’m confident this is but the first of many successes.”

“Of course,  _ Master Kenobi _ , did you expect anything else?” The grin refused to leave his face.

Anakin barely missed the falter in the smile of the diplomatic politician, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “What of the target? Was anything revealed by his death?” 

“Hardeen spoke as if he knew Al Mualim. He implied that he was only one of many and that my work had a larger meaning than just simply taking out a Templar.” Anakin shrugged.

“Significance comes not from a single act, but the context within which it is performed. The consequences born from it. Al Mualim has his reasons for these targets, it’s not our place to question it.”

“You don’t think there’s more we should know?” The grin fell from his face, curious now. Kenobi had always been one to say question everything and not blindly follow.

“If Al Mualim chooses to withhold information, it’s only to ensure you don’t make another stupid mistake.” He leaned back in his chair, already annoyed with where this conversation was going.

Anakin crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame, “I see.”

“No you don’t! And it will remain that way until you’ve learned your lesson, if that’s even possible! Still, Al Mualim thinks you’ve performed well enough to restore a rank and to return your dagger. Return in two days where I will have your next targets ready for you. Leave.” He threw the dagger to bury it in the door frame right above Anakin’s head.

The grin reappeared and Anakin gave a mocking two fingered salute before grabbing the dagger, “Always a pleasure.”

Spirits still in a good mood he jogged down closer to the Healer’s wing, avoiding the patient rooms and headed straight back towards the stillroom. “Padme?”

The short brunette popped out from where she was fussing over some plant of hers or another, “Ani! It’s nice to see you’re in a good mood.” She giggled for a moment as he lifted her up and spun her around.

“Hard to be down when you can prove Kenobi’s ass wrong. Krell, too.” He sat her back down with a grin. 

“Anakin, you know you shouldn’t be happy at the expense of others. Now, any injuries to report?” She was always scolding him in one way or another. 

He pushed his hood back, running his hand through the uneven locks of his hair, “Does my hair count?” Anakin watched as her face was torn between horror and laughter.

“Do I even want to know how this happened?” Padme pushed him towards a low stool and to sit down.

Some of his good mood fell at the memory, “Who do you think?” he responded bitterly.

“Well, no matter, I’m sure we can fix this. Reminds me of when you were still just a little boy and Quinlan talked you into cutting your hair with his knife. I mourned the loss of those beautiful curls.” Gentle hands combed through his uneven hair before the sound of scissors began.

“I miss him too, Padme. So much.” 

\-------

_ “He still grips to his Assassin training, _ ” Asajj Ventress hissed to her master, icy blue eyes watching the wounded, dreadlocked man prance around the sparring ring. His bruises were fading, his eyes clear and alert. This was the sixth Templar initiate he had taken down, and he was barely at full function. 

“That may not be a bad thing,” Maul murmured in response, crossing his arms. “After all, he’s doing  _ very _ well.” 

She watched as Quinlan Vos picked the Initiate up and dusted him off, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin of encouragement and a few tips for next time. As he demonstrated a different stance, the boy mimicking him, she shrugged. “He’s a good teacher. If I wasn’t concerned about his loyalties, I’d say he should  _ train _ the Initiates. The more we fight like Assassins, the better we can understand them.” 

“Exactly,” Maul grinned, hand on her bare shoulder. “You’re thinking more like us now.” 

She shrugged off his hand, leaning on the rail.  _ Don’t remind me. _

“Vos!” Maul shouted, and the man looked up, turning to face him. 

“Well, if it isn’t the Ice Queen and her right-hand man,” Vos grinned. “What brings you to my humble abode?” 

“Haha, very funny, Vos,” Ventress snapped, glaring at him. 

“I think you should spar Ventress,” Maul grinned, and the girl’s eyes snapped open. “Give the initiates something to watch, hm? Assassin against Templar.” 

Vos grinned, bowing. “I'd be honored.” 

“You're not being serious,” Ventress whispered to Maul, and the man grinned. 

“Don't let me down, darling.” 

She groaned, then jumped over the railing to land twenty feet below in the pit. She rolled on the impact, sizing up Quinlan. 

They circled each other, eyes locked on each other. Foot over foot, hands extended out-- 

Quinlan charged in with a flying left hook, which the smaller, faster Ventress ducked under and drove her shoulder into his liver. He stumbled back, but made no other hint that she’d hurt him.

Ventress followed up with a series of punches and kicks, her left foot smacking the former Assassin in the face. He grabbed it, a sly grin on his face as she hopped to gain her balance back. “My, you're flexible. I'll have to remember that.” 

She roared and jumped off her right leg, spinning over him to slam her foot into his neck. 

He threw her to the sand, Ventress jumping back up to her feet. They circled each other again, grins sliding into focused concentration. The initiates stared at them with rapt attention, grinning in awe. 

Ventress's next move sent her ricocheting off Quinlan, the man landing neatly with her pinned to the ground by her throat. 

It was neat, clean, and short. The entire match lasted maybe a minute or less, and Quinlan helped her up, the woman staring at him in shock. “No one has been able to beat me in years,” she muttered, eyes fixed on him. 

Quinlan shrugged. “You were fighting cold. I had time to warm up.” 

Maul clapped from his place on the balcony, the two staring up at him. “Very good,” he grinned, and then leaned against the rail. “Asajj, meet your new bodyguard.” 

“ _ What!  _ I don't need a bodyguard!” 

Maul shrugged. “If a wounded Assassin could best you, I find it necessary.” 

Ventress glared at him, but did not argue further. 

Later, she rushed up beside him, eyes ablaze. “What the  _ hell _ do you think you're doing?” 

“Vos is a flight risk. I want him assigned to you so you can keep an eye on him. Am I clear?” 

The woman paused, then nodded. “Yes sir.” 

Maul patted her on the shoulder. “Good girl. Take notes and report to me regularly.” 

He stalked off, leaving Ventress to lean against the wall in shock and awe.  _ He's trusting me?  _ Asajj Ventress didn't know whether that was a good or a bad thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be a delay on the next chapter as we try to get back ahead. Thanks guys!


	4. Chapter 4

_ A bodyguard. _

Ventress scoffed as she stormed off towards her quarters shortly after her encounter with de Maul, blue eyes laced with icy fire that would burn someone with their cold gaze. A page ran up to her as she stalked the grand hallways of their castle, the boy stopping her with a gentle hand and a, “Miss!” 

“Yes?” She snapped, and the boy flinched back. If she felt bad about it, she didn’t show it. 

“Rako Hardeen has been killed. Do you wish to inform Lord Maul yourself?” 

Ventress groaned, turning to the wall and slamming her fist into it as hard as she could. The boy flinched back, but didn’t run off. “I’ll tell him,” she muttered. “He’ll kill you if you do. Dismissed.” 

As she went to turn around, she saw Maul himself stalking down the hallway once more, seeming to follow her. “Sir!” she called, and he paused at her voice. 

“What is it?” He asked, the two stopping in the middle of the grand hallway. He loomed over her, by at least a foot, and was easily three times her size. She sometimes forgot about how small she was in comparison to men. 

“Rako Hardeen has been killed. I can only assume it was done by Assassins.” She bit her lip. “I wish to seek permission to check Darts D’Nar’s location.”

Maul’s jaw clenched, but otherwise, he made no other indication of his distress. “While D’Nar is not likely the Assassins’ next target, I believe it is in our best interest to track down our most influentials that are a bit more.... Accessible than others.” He scrubbed at his scruffy jaw, shaking his head. “You have my permission.... And my blessing, for what it’s worth. Don’t fuck this up, Asajj. I’m counting on you.” 

She nodded, tossing her hair out of her face. “Thank you, sir. I have faith in my abilities, and I wouldn’t let you down unless I did everything in my power to stop it.” 

“Get out of here, Asajj,” Maul groaned, and the girl grinned, racing back to her rooms. Adrenaline pumped through her bones as she turned the handle to her room, only to find Quinlan sitting on her floor. 

“I was going to sit on the bed, but that just felt fifty shades of wrong,” Quinlan grinned, winking at her as he pushed himself off the floor. 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” she hissed, glaring at him. 

“Well, uh, Mister de Maul told me to wait for you here. Apparently I’m supposed to protect you,” he shrugged, adjusting his shirt. “I don’t think you need it, for the record. You clearly got to your position by fighting tooth and nail for it. I admire that kind of determination.” 

“In a woman?” She snarled, and Quinlan gave her an incredulous look. 

“In  _ anyone, _ ” he corrected her, eyebrow quirked. “I’m an asshole, Ventress, but I’m not a douchebag.” 

“That’s reassuring,” she muttered, grabbing a bag and shoving clothes into it. 

“Where are you going?” He asked, sheepishly standing in the middle of the room. 

“We’re headed for Jerusalem.” She slipped the strap over her shoulder, belting on her weapons as she moved about the room. “We’ll make a stop at the tailor and blacksmith to get you decent clothes and weapons, but for now...” She reached into her boot and pulled out a long dagger, offering it to the man. “This should get you through the streets around here.” 

Quinlan gingerly took the blade from her, staring at the steel. “Is this a Damascus steel blade?” 

Her harsh look eased a bit. “Yes, yes it is. If you like it, I’ll see about getting you one custom-ordered. I don’t want my protection to have anything less than the best. But if you turn on me,” she growled, eyes dark, “I will hurt you so much worse than I ever have before. Am I clear?” 

“Crystal,” he muttered in response, and she nodded. 

“Now that you’re standing straight we can get you fitted for formal dress too,” she muttered to herself, eyes scanning him. He felt naked under her gaze, and while that would have normally excited him, it only made his stomach turn with anxiety. Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “You’d look beautiful in a dress.” 

“Aw, you called me beautiful,” Quin grinned, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Let’s go, Vos; the morning is still young, and if we go now, we might be able to get you items for a business meeting I have to attend to while we’re in Jerusalem.” She left the room, and Quinlan followed her like a lost puppy, brown eyes wide and somehow absolutely smitten with her. 

He could feel Kenobi whispering in his ear.  _ She almost killed you, you dumbass. She tortured you! For a month! _

_ And looked damned hot while doing it, _ he replied, and he only followed her to the stable. 

Ventress handed him the reins to a horse, a wicked smile on her face. “This is Rogue. He’s a feisty one, but I have confidence you can handle him.”

Quinlan took the reins of the dark horse, affectionately rubbing the soft nose. “Hi, buddy. You’re just giving her a hard time.” 

The horse affectionately nuzzled at him, and then chewed on his hair. 

“Ow, no, no, bad horse,  _ ow--- _ ” 

Ventress giggled, smiling at the ground as she mounted her white steed. 

“Ice queen, indeed,” he winked at her, and she bristled. 

“I am no queen, Vos. You’d do well to remember that.” She nodded to the city line, Baghdad shining on the horizon. “We will head there. Do not inform anyone that we are Templar. Baghdad is an Assassin city, as you know.” 

Vos muttered something under his breath, but Ventress didn’t ask what it was. She spurred her horse forward, Quinlan following closely as they raced towards the horizon, sun at their backs. 

 

_ Quinlan would never know why the Templars chose an Assassin city to hide their most valuable people. _ But, in retrospect, he could get behind it as an intelligent move. Valuables meant that there were spies as well. 

He briefly wondered if any of the Assassins he’d worked with in the Syrian city were traitors. 

The city was just as busy as the day he’d left, bustling with activity and gentle people on camels. The road they’d taken was well-traveled, so their horses were able to grip on the desert, but still, it was often a cumbersome journey. 

Ventress nodded to the right of them, eyes squinting to block out the sun. “We’ll head to the tailor first, get you fitted, then to the smith. Your dress uniform will take a bit to produce, of course.” 

“Say I agree to these terms,” Quinlan began, and Ventress sighed. 

“We’re not negotiat--”

“Would you fuck me if I wore it? Just as some incentive?” He cut her off, a sly grin on his face. She only sighed with a defeated, dead-inside look and spurred off towards the tailor. He swore he heard a  _ I’ll fuck you with my swords _ before she left, but the words were carried on the breeze, Quinlan not sure if it came from her or not. 

He shrugged and ran off after her, tying his horse beside her beautiful white stallion and paying a child with some coins to watch them and let her know if anyone tried to take them. He entered the building behind her, the seamstress perking up in pure elation when she saw Ventress. “My lady! How can I serve you today?” 

“I need to get this one--” she gestured to Quinlan with a jut of her chin “--fitted for both dress and street wear. He has nothing but the clothes on his back, and Lord Maul doesn’t take too kindly to that. He’s too oddly shaped to fit any of our clothes we have stored up, but the ones he’s got are alright.” 

The young woman, maybe thirty, bustled around him, taking measurements with a knotted string as she muttered to herself in her native language. “Would Mistress like the standard white and red?” 

Ventress scrutinized him under her icy gaze, and for the second time that day, he felt naked under it, nervous and bare to the bone, as if all his emotions, all his desires, were there for her to read. “No,” she finally replied. “I want him in a dark gray majority, with white and black trimming. Layered, like mine.” 

The woman nodded, scribbling on her notepad. “Yes, Mistress! I will have the girls get started right away. Would you like any special embroidery?” 

Ventress’ gaze still hadn’t left him, and they maintained the eye contact before she murmured, “An eagle.” 

“I’m sorry, Mistress?” 

“An eagle,” Ventress repeated. “In white and silver.” 

“Yes, my lady. Anything else?” The woman looked up expectantly, preparing to hand the order over to another girl. 

“Leather weapon belts and bags, as usual,” Ventress nodded, finally tearing her eyes away from Quinlan. “Thank you, Marissa.” 

“No worries, my lady. I’ll get all the girls on it as quickly as possible. It should be ready by sundown.” Marissa grinned, and Ventress inclined her head. 

“We’ll be here.” Ventress nodded to Quinlan, the duo heading back to the horses as the kid ran off with his few cheap coins. 

“Smith?” Quinlan asked, and Ventress nodded, eyes distracted from him. 

“Yes. Let's go.”

He didn’t comment on the hesitant look in her eye, or how she seemed to flinch away from every movement in her peripheral. Even how she rode her horse was different, slouched and jagged compared to the tall pride she usually had in her spine. An eagle soared down from above, and she flinched away so quickly she nearly fell out of her saddle. 

The smith was right around the corner, Vos would come to learn, as they disembarked and headed towards the front of the store. 

Behind the salesman were six men toiling over their forges, skin stained black with soot and smoke. Quinlan watched as they struck down on their anvils, lethal precision earning white-hot sparks. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” the salesman grinned, and Quinlan raised an eyebrow as Ventress’s hand snuck out, grabbing the man by his jaw. 

“Listen here, you fat oaf,” she growled, ice on her gaze, “I am the one in charge. Bring me your head smith.” 

“He is--” 

“ _ I don’t care if he’s busy,” _ Ventress hissed back, and the man nodded, skittering back behind the brick wall that separated most of the stock from view. 

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Vos murmured. “I was perfectly capable of putting him in his place, darling.” 

She scoffed at the pet name, but said, “Men are all the same. Assuming they’re better than me, as if I am not as lethal as the rest of my brothers.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “I am better, some days, than Maul himself.” 

Quinlan raised an eyebrow, but just as he opened his mouth to reply, a European man came from the back hall, eyes squinted against the sun. “Why, if it isn’t Asajj. Forgive my new counter, he’s not used to you yet. I’m sure you scared him.” 

Asajj grinned, and the two clasped hands before she nodded to Quinlan. “He needs weapons. Nice ones.” 

The man looked him up and down, eyebrow raised. “He looks like an Assassin.”

“I know,” Ventress sighed. “But he’s now my bodyguard, courtesy Maul. And if he fails, I’ll be the first to spear his side.” She shrugged, rolling her shoulder. “Just get it done, James.” 

James sighed, nodding. “As you wish, my lady.” 

Hours went by. Quinlan spent it meditating alongside Ventress, but kept his ears open and his back pressed to hers. If she found his need to be touching her annoying, she didn't say anything. Maybe it was because she knew why. 

Quinlan Vos never quite got the idea of meditation. It was more Kenobi’s thing; the Scot would say it brought him peace, allowing him to ground himself in the here and now. Vos just thought it a waste of time, and he was usually on edge the entire time.

But this was different. His back to Ventress, resting against her like she did him; it was a heavenly concoction of trust and hate, driving him to the edge of ecstasy. 

Then again, Vos was overly romantic and sexual, so what did he know? 

Ventress poked her elbow into his ribs. “Time to go, pretty boy.” 

“The ice queen speaks,” he grinned, but forced his aching joints into mobility. She only huffed, and took his extended hand to help her up. 

“Your armor should be ready, and then your clothes. We can then grab food, and off we go,” she muttered, almost to herself. 

She was distracted still, but not nearly as agitated. As they waited outside the smithy, the sun kissed the horizon and washed the dunes on the horizon in blood red. 

“Red skies at night, sailor’s delight,” he muttered to himself, the Gaelic falling off his tongue. Vos resisted the urge to scrub every trace of the filth off of him that screamed  _ You traitor!  _ to him, as if his own allegiances weren't in question already.  _ You're serving the Brotherhood,  _ he told himself.  _ You're serving Kenobi still.  _

_ Yeah,  _ a voice snorted.  _ Keep telling yourself that. Look at you! Templar clothes, Templar armor; Kenobi would sooner run you through than to save you.  _

Quinlan paled when he realized that the voice wasn't wrong. 

“Here ye go,” James grinned, dropping the items on the table. The dagger, Damascus steel, seemed almost unreal in the weight and beauty in the blade itself. “Is it suitable?” 

Quinlan nodded. “I do, indeed, believe so.” 

Ventress nodded. “Yes, James, thank you.” 

They gathered the armor, lighter than he expected, and latched the weapons onto his horse. The armor went into his saddlebags, and he nodded to Ventress. 

The trip to the tailor was short, but it felt like Ventress was sitting on something huge, a bombshell the size of an entire galaxy. But the clothes were there, waiting for them, just like the seamstress herself. 

“I hope these are to your liking, my lady,” Marissa murmured, and Ventress accepted them with a bow. 

“They always are. Vos, here.” She tossed him the light cotton clothes, nodding towards the door. “Go change. Tonight we ride for Acre.” 

\-------

The tea was cold the next time he brought it to his lips, bringing a grimace to Obi-Wan’s face. When he’d received this promotion a month ago, he’d appreciated the elevation in status mainly as a way to get back at Anakin. What he hadn’t counted on was the sheer amount of paperwork and correspondence required to effectively run all the contracts for the Levantine Brotherhood. A familiar laugh startled him from his thoughts. 

“I don’t think glaring at the papers are going to make them go away, Obi-Wan.” Satine’s face was lit up with a teasing smile, eyes sparkling in the light from the morning sun.

“It should. I don’t know how Al Mualim managed all this and his other duties while still managing to find time to sleep.” He grumbled, running his hands through his hair tiredly. “Every time I make it through one pile, more seem to just appear on my desk. I was so busy that I didn’t get to do much more than hand that novice his paperwork with a glare when he came by yesterday,” he mumbled under his breath, “He was so damn smug about it too.” 

Satine took the seat across from him, amusement at his expense plain on her face, “I heard about the haircut you so generously provided. Padme is very upset with you over it, I’d avoid her for awhile I were you.”

“She has always babied him. He’s only getting the bare minimum of what he deserves.” He grumbled.

“Quran, sura forty-one, ayat thirty-four, ‘A good action and a bad action are not the same. Repel the bad with something better and, if there is enmity between you and someone else, he will be like a bosom friend.’” Her voice was reproachful, on the border of scolding him once again.

“Yes, yes, Allah is the Forgiving, the Merciful. I  _ know _ , Satine, we’ve gone over this before and I have no desire to repeat the conversation.” 

Her smile was tinged with disappointment, but genuine nonetheless. “All right, Obi-Wan, I’ll leave you be.” She patted his hand before leaving, and he let the fact she had spoken to him in Gaelic wash over him.  _ She was always looking out for me. _

Obi-Wan groaned in frustration when he was interrupted again only a few moments later, ready to snap at the person who dared to bother him. He looked up to see an older long-haired man leaning against the doorframe with a knowing smile. 

“Haven’t seen you on the practice field since your big fancy promotion, Kenobi.” 

“Master Jinn, always a pleasure. This ‘big fancy promotion’, as you put it, has kept me rather busy.” He gestured to the pile of papers on his desk before returning to his review. 

A large hand blocked the contract he was looking over, “It's not a request, Obi-Wan.” 

“I really don't have time for this and you are no longer my mentor, Qui-Gon. I’m rather behind for this week if you don't mind.” When the hand didn't move, he sighed exasperatedly, “You aren't going to leave until I go, are you?”

The sly grin on the man's face answered his question. “You already know the answer to that. Besides, you've always been insufferable when you don’t have a physical outlet.” 

“Fine.” He knew from experience there was no dealing with his former Master when he was like this. Instead he put his quill and ink away, getting to his feet and stretching with a few bony pops from sitting in one position too long. “Do you at least have someone decent setup for me to spar?”

Qui-Gon’s grin turned sadistically gleeful as he shooed him out of the office, “Spar? Oh no, Obi-Wan, I have a  _ class _ ready for you.”

Stopping in his tracks, he turned to face the taller man with a raised brow, “A class you say? I do think I’m far beyond the need to take any classes.” The laughter that boomed from Qui-Gon was normally infectious, but Kenobi was far too suspicious of the man’s intentions. A hand landed on his shoulder while the other man wiped his eyes from tears.

“You are far too funny. I meant a class of novices to teach, Obi-Wan. You are correct, there aren’t any classes you need to take.”

“Teach? Have you gone mad with old age? I didn’t have patience for my own age-mates when I was a  _ novice _ !” He was nearly flabbergasted by the suggestion, he certainly had no desire to deal with snotty-nosed younglings. 

“I don’t know about that, you had patience for you and Vos’ shadow, Skywalker.” Qui-Gon’s face is gentle, almost parental in his look at Obi-Wan.

A chill went down Obi-Wan’s spine as his anger rose back to the surface, “Don’t mention him, Jinn.  _ Never _ mention his name to me again, especially with Quin’s in the same sentence.” His voice was flat, but menacing in its threat. 

Frowning, Qui-Gon gave him a once over in regard but didn’t bring it back up, ignoring the ghost of a dark man grinning over his former student. “We’re going to be late for your class if we don’t hurry.”

Some of the anger dissipated, turning into dreaded resignation; clearly, Qui-Gon was  _ not _ going to give up. He never did, after all. “Fine. At least tell me I’m teaching an older class?”

“Daggers; I can’t think of more skilled a teacher for the older novices.” The infuriating and slightly patronizing smile returned to the older man’s face.

“Well, at least you don’t have me instructing the younglings.” Kenobi managed a slight smile in return as they walked towards the practice yard and his new responsibility. 

Before they reached the ring, Jinn pulled him aside, hand on his wrist. “I want to warn you,” the man whispered. “This is the first mixed-sex class. There are a group of girls that fought their way through male Initiates to earn their spot here.” 

Kenobi grinned. “No offense, Master Jinn, but it’s about damn time.” 

Jinn grinned in return. “I knew you’d say that. Let’s go, shall we?” 

The group was small, smaller than when Kenobi had been a student. Jinn announced him while he stalked the lines, much like Al Mualim had when he was a boy. The girls were two in number, one dark-haired and the singular girl the Levantine had from the Indian Ocean. She was a half-breed, one of the locals of her home and an Arab much like Mace being her parents, who hovered over his shoulder. Alienated by the rest of her peers, she’d found a home alongside Barriss Offee, and the girl stared up defiantly into Kenobi’s face. 

“You’re a feisty one,” Kenobi grinned. “Master Jinn hasn’t told you how the Assassins have a tendency to strip that out of you?”

“No need to lose more than just your soul as you kill for the greater good,” she shot back. “I like to keep my passion alive.” 

“ _ Ahsoka, _ ” Barriss hissed from beside her. 

“No, no,” Kenobi grinned, nodding to her. “Ahsoka Tano. You’ll be my partner for today. The rest of you, pair up and watch me.” 

Ahsoka soared above his expectations, besting even the most skilled of her peers. Barriss cheered her on from the side, and their relationship only saddened him; he and Quin had been just as close as the two. 

\-------

It was ridiculously easy to find where Nuvo Vindi liked to spend the majority of his time. Even the most inexperienced of novices would’ve known to look for the Doctor at the hospital. To find the hospital all one had to do was follow the trail of crazies randomly attacking people or screaming their heads of incoherently. Still, he’d had to do some reconnaissance to satisfy Rafiq Mundi before he’d given him the feather. At least Mundi wasn't quite as difficult as Krell; the man was far more kind-hearted and gentle than Rafiq Krell, and the two did not quite get along. 

Now, he stood waiting with a group of people at the hospital’s entrance watching the proceedings of a patient trying to escape. He used the distraction to slip into the hospital itself where he knew Vindi would be making his rounds. One of his less-than-forthcoming information sources had told him of the Doctor’s proclivity for entering the rooms of the much less sane alone while guards continued to patrol. It was to one of those rooms he entered, knocking the actual patient out and hiding him in a neighboring room while he slipped under the sheet and waited. At least his short hair worked in his favor for blending in with other patients.

Hours went by before he even heard the man come anywhere near the cell. A few times he’d drifted off, jolting awake to the noise of someone shaking the door to their cell. _I really need to get some sleep after this, travelling alone it’s hard to get any real rest on the road. Or in the Bureaus, never know what Kenobi has told the Rafiq to torture me with the minute I fall asleep._ _Get it together, Skywalker, or you’re going to find yourself an actual patient here._

Finally, the jingle of an armoured guard outside the door alerted him to Vindi’s presence. The man was humming an upbeat (and offkey) melody as he was let in the room. 

“Ah, my child, how are you feeling today?” 

Anakin forced himself to remain still as the footsteps came closer and a hand touched his side. He didn’t make a noise when the hand shook him, waiting for him to get even closer. When the hand pressed to his forehead, he struck like a coiled spring, hidden blade plunging into the neck to sever arteries and vocal cords. He grabbed the body before it could fall and alert the guards to something being wrong.

Once again, the world fell away into a gray haze as he cradled Vindi in his lap for his final moments, “Let go your burden.” 

“Ah, I’ll rest now, yes. But before I close my eyes, I must know - what will become of my children?” Vindi actually looked concerned over them as he searched Anakin’s eyes for the answer.

“They’ll be free now to return to their homes, away from your cruel experiments and back to where you took them from against their will.” Disgust rolled through him at the thought of the tortured people roaming the halls and screaming in their beds.

“Homes?! The sewers? The brothels? The prisons that we dragged them from? Are you really so naive? They are but children, they need guidance!” There was anger in his words, spittle mixing with blood as he barked out the words.

“These are not children, but men and women, full grown!” 

Vindi sighed tiredly, “In body, perhaps, but not in mind; which is the very damage I sought to repair. I admit, without the Artifact, which you stole from us, my progress was slowed. But there are herbs, mixtures and extracts. My guards are proof of this. They were madmen before I found and freed them from the prisons of their own minds. Ahh, and with my death, madmen they will be again.” His eyes started to drift close.

Anakin wasn’t sure what to think, from the outside it looked like Vindi was taking advantage of these people but to hear him speak, “You truly believe you were helping them?”

“It’s not what I believe, it’s what I know.” The final breath left the doctor’s body and the world came back into focus. 

No guards were tearing through the door to get in, so Anakin still had time to do what he’d planned on the journey here. Maul was still out there and so were others, he needed to send them a message beyond the death of their members. Quickly, he got to work with his dagger to sever the head from the body.  _ Maybe he was doing good and what he thought was right, but even if they weren’t sound in mind, it wasn’t his right to make that choice for them. People have the right of free will and he took that from them. The Templars wish to enslave us in order to create peace. They need to understand that I will be coming for them, Al Mualim will send his weapon out again and again until they are wiped from this Earth. _

Precious minutes ticked by to get the head to sever entirely without the use of a saw, but he managed it without too much noise. He pulled a piece of parchment from his belt and pried a nail loose from the bed with his blade to write his note. Blood wasn’t the best ink, but Anakin made do, taking his time so it was legible. Satisfied, he used the nail to pin the note to Vindi’s forehead before placing the head on the chest and folding arms neatly across the body. He made sure to dip the feather in the pooled blood around the body before making his exit.

It was easy to escape the hospital despite his blood covered robes. The city alarms started ringing within minutes of his escape, but he was several blocks away at that point. From there it was simple to drop his bloodstained feather with the Rafiq, Agen Kolar, before making the journey back to Masyaf. 

\-------

Another pigeon had arrived two days ago once again sending news of Anakin’s success. The Rafiq had plenty to gossip about his attitude and even the hints of perceived humility, but there had been grudging respect laced in as well. At least this time, he’d managed to keep himself from destroying his office once again. Instead, his students had been subject to his frustration and anger in their classes since then.

Today, he had his students sparring one another in hand to hand combat. Already emotions were running high with his constant criticism of technique and their failure to impress him. He continued to prowl the training yard, stopping where Ahsoka was sparring with another age-mate. Even in as pissy mood as he was in, he still had to admire her technique and ferocity. Still, he couldn’t let there be any type of favoritism in his class so he made sure to point out a few flaws of hers although without the insults he’d thrown at others. 

“Halt! If all of you are intent on being such disgraces, then there’s no point in continuing this class today. Start your cooldowns.” He was disgusted with their sloppy work, he knew for a fact that Master Jinn had taught them better. Tomorrow he’d get them back to basic form drilling since apparently they had forgotten everything Jinn had taught them in the last few days. 

The novices gave him a wide berth as they performed their stretches and walked the ring to cooldown. He watched several older boys eyeing the girls as targets like they did after every class when the girls showed them up. So far they hadn’t attempted anything that he had seen, but he kept an eye out just in case he needed to interfere. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anakin on the edges of the class, watching Ahsoka curiously and the hatred that spread over him almost blinded him from the wicked right hook that soared from the older boy towards Ahsoka. 

Kenobi reached for the hand, but Anakin grabbed the boy by the throat, blue eyes blazing. “ _ Never, _ ” Anakin hissed, glaring at him, “raise a hand to someone higher skilled than you. Only start fights you're sure you can win.” 

Wordlessly, the boy paled and nodded, the students looking between themselves, whispering, “ _ Did you see that? I didn't even see him jump the ring! He was just.... There.”  _

Anakin left, as quickly as he came, disappearing into the Keep towards the barracks presumably. Obi-Wan would deal with his interference when he saw him later, he didn’t need Anakin thinking he could just barge in and interrupt his class as he pleased.

Ahsoka stared after him, much like Kenobi did, and muttered, “I don't need protection.” 

Kenobi grinned down at her.  _ I like this one. _

\-------

Avoiding the confrontation for as long as possible, Anakin checked in with Padme to show he was all right before grabbing a fresh change of clothes and heading to the bath. At this time it was blessedly empty and he took his time in soaking the aching muscles from his trip back to Masyaf. He was nearly asleep when he heard voices echoing down the hallway. Quickly, he got out from the pool, barely drying off before yanking his clothes on and leaving the room still barefoot. 

After finishing getting dressed in the hallway, he knew he couldn’t put off the confrontation any longer since Obi-Wan knew he was back in Masyaf. He’d seen the anger in his eyes when he’d spied him lurking in the shadows around the ring and had almost expected a blow after stopping the boy from punching that girl.

Although he hadn’t agreed with allowing girls to train as Assassins-- it was called the Brotherhood for a reason, after all-- he’d been impressed with the dark-skinned girl. She had fought better than most of the boys, using her smaller stature as a weapon to get past guards and under blows. If he were honest, she reminded him of the way he had fought when he’d been younger and still small for his age.  _ Actually, I can see a lot of myself in her fighting style. I’m surprised Kenobi doesn’t penalize her for it. _

Far too quickly he found himself hesitating in the hallway outside Kenobi’s office, uneager to receive the tongue lashing he knew was waiting. 

“I know you’re there, Novice. You’ve been there long enough one would think you’re scared of me.” Obi-Wan’s voice was mocking and condescending per the new normal. He took another moment to center himself before walking in to face the man.

“Vindi is dead as requested.” Anakin kept it short and simple, hoping to avoid any further conversation than the bare minimum.

“So I’ve heard, but let’s discuss your interruption in my class first.” The predatory and gleeful look was back on his face, and Anakin glanced away.  _ It wasn’t fair to her. _

“He was going to hit her, I stopped him from doing so. I don’t like bullies.” He shrugged, gaze fixed on the floor at his feet. It didn’t take a genius for him to understand why Kenobi was pissed, that was for sure, but that girl didn’t deserve to be punished, not just because she was better than them. 

“Never interfere in one of my classes again,” Kenobi growled in warning, “If you do, I will not hesitate to humiliate you in front of my class. There is no reason for you to be anywhere near my classes and the consequences will be severe if I find you there again. Understood?”

He opened his mouth to make a comment about how it wasn’t fair to the girl, but Anakin only nodded in response, still refusing to meet Kenobi’s angry gaze.

“Now, report on Vindi.” 

“He is dead.” Anakin half expected a book to be flying towards his head at his sarcastic response and risked a glance up to see the still angry gaze directed at him, though it was a bit more dry this time. “There is something else.”

“Speak it then! Or would you have me read your mind?”  _ Nope, never mind, not more dry. Still pissed. Backtrack, backtrack.... _

“What do you think he wanted from these people, that he would keep them and experiment on them as he did?” His thoughts couldn’t help but wander back through what he’d seen while slipping through the hospital, swallowing his pity and disgust. If Kenobi saw it, who knows what kind of punishment he’d face? Wasn’t losing everything enough? 

“Yours is not to ask, but act, Novice! It doesn't matter what he did or why. Only that he's dead.” He watched Obi-Wan pick up his quill and begin writing some type of correspondence in a clear dismissal, but he couldn’t let it go that easily.

His voice was small, his eyes narrowed in averted confusion. “But Vindi seemed to believe he was helping these people....” 

Kenobi paused in his writing to look at him with a raised brow, seemingly genuinely interested in what his charge had to say at least for a moment. “Is that what you saw?”

_ For heaven’s sake, I don’t know!  _ Shaking his head, he replied, “No. What I saw was not a place of healing, but of pain.”

The writing began again, Kenobi’s voice bitter, dry, and flat. “Then why are we having this conversation?”

Shrugging, Anakin focused his gaze on everywhere but Kenobi. A part of him shattered when he saw Kenobi lacking his normal passion of hate, as if the Eagle of Masyaf had grown to enjoy the torment it created. “I… I don’t know. Forget I spoke of it.”

“I already have. Leave, Al Mualim wishes to speak to you.” 

He took his leave quickly, feeling relieved that he’d managed to leave the encounter relatively unscathed.  _ What was I even thinking bringing up my concerns to him? As if he’d actually cared about what some lowly ‘novice’ would think. You’re a weapon, Anakin, and weapons don’t think according to ‘Master’ Kenobi. _ Al Mualim’s quarters weren’t far from there and he found himself knocking at the doors within moments, trying to put the conversation with Kenobi behind him. 

“Ah, my boy, come in, come in.” Al Mualim had the same fatherly smile on his face he’d had for most of Anakin’s childhood, and instantly he was soothed, the exchange between himself and Kenobi forgotten. They settled on cushions set near a low table, tea already set out in preparation of his visit. Kenobi would be jealous, Anakin mused.

“It is good to see you again, Master. I haven’t been sure that my presence would be welcome.” He inclined his head in respect as he’d done since he was a young boy. Al Mualim was the one person he respected, trusted with his entire being. He would let the man shoot an apple off his head if it meant proving his worth--and  _ everyone _ knew Al Mualim was not anywhere near the best in archery.

“Anakin, you will always be welcome here. I am sorry we had to go through that nasty business before, but I do hear you’re well on your way back up. What of your target?” The older man poured him tea, sliding the cup to him. Gratefully, Anakin took a sip.

“Nuvo Vindi is dead by my hand.” The tea was his favorite, a sweeter one that Al Mualim had saved for special occasions. He’d forgotten just how good it tasted; the last time they’d drank it together he’d been promoted to the rank of Master. The memory was now stained sour with his demotion, and Anakin fought back his grimace of pain at the recollection.

“Excellent! We could not have hoped for a more agreeable outcome.” A wrinkled hand patted his with another one of those fatherly smiles.  _ I bet he would take my concerns seriously, unlike Kenobi. _

“And yet…” Anakin hesitated, his gaze uneven.

Al Mualim set his tea down to regard him carefully, “What is it, my boy?”

Anakin set his tea down as well, twiddling his fingers for a moment before nodding to himself, “The doctor insisted his work was noble. And looking back, those who were supposedly his captives seemed grateful to the man. Not all of them, but enough to make me wonder. How did he manage to turn enemy into friend?”

The older man sighed, steepling his fingers on the table and looking pensive before responding, “Leaders will always find ways to make others obey them. And that is what makes them leaders. When words fail they turn to coin. When that won't do, they resort to baser things - bribes, threats, and others types of trickery. There are plants, Anakin, herbs from distant lands, that can cause a man to take leave of his senses. So great are the pleasures it brings, men may even become enslaved by it.”

Frowning, he mulled the answer over in his head, “So you think these men were drugged, then? Poisoned?”

“Yes, if it truly was as you describe it.” His mentor picked his tea cup back up to take another sip, while Anakin considered what he had seen and weighing it against the answer. This time, the taste wasn’t as bitter, the memory washed away by his master’s grin of encouragement.  

“Herbs... This seems a strange method of control.” He wasn’t sure that was what he had seen,  _ I’ve never heard of herbs that can do that, maybe I should bring this up with Padme. _ He shuddered.  _  And have her add them to the list of things I will never touch. _

The laugh startled him out of his thoughts and back to the present, “Our enemies have accused me of the same. That I drug you as Vindi did his men and tempt you with its rewards.”

There was no other way to feel but offended, “They do not know the truth of it! You would never do such a thing to us, Master! All we seek is peace.” 

Sighing, Al Mualim smiled tiredly, “Which is how it must be. If they knew the truth of it then they would not fear us, and we would have no hold over them. Go, it is time you continued with your work. Another rank is restored to you, as is a piece of your equipment.”

Anakin smiled and bowed respectfully, “Safety and peace, Master.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Ronin comin' at ya, for the first time since starting this fic.  
> Icse has been posting most of these chapters, and since my darling Kenobi is at work and unable to access ao3, here I am.  
> We both thank all of you who have read thus far, and wish to warn you all that it will easily be two weeks before our next update. I have finals this week and won't be able to get much done, so Icse has to pick it up for me. Which I regret, really.  
> Safety and peace, and may the Force be with you!


	5. Chapter 5

“There  _ must  _ be something we can do,” Ventress snapped, eyes twitching with impatience as she glanced across the large round table at the remaining members of the Order. Two were missing, she recalled; Hardeen and Vindi were both due to speak at the meeting today, and one was dead, the other missing. “This Assassin plague  _ must _ be dealt with.” 

Quinlan stood behind her, dutifully silent as he controlled the involuntary flinch that came with her words. His dreads had been tied up;  _ a Templar doesn't have long hair _ , Ventress had warned him. When he refused to cut it, it was her compromise.  _ Not everyone can pull off short hair _ , he mused. 

“We should storm their gates and kill each and every one of them,” D’Nar hissed, eyes glaring at Quinlan. He knew, they all did. He dared them to do something about it. 

Ventress opened her mouth to reply, but her words were silenced with a cry of horror from a page who had been sent in. 

On a tray he held, now bared, was Nuvo Vindi’s head, with a note nailed to the forehead. 

Ventress gulped, paling. “Bring it here, boy.” 

The teen brought it closer, green with disgust, and upon reading the neat writing upon the note, he roared with laughter. 

_ Templars:  _

_ Try to hide from my blade, I dare you.  _

_ \--Anakin Skywalker, Eagle of Masyaf. _

As he wiped his eyes with his sleeve, Ventress glared at him. “What is your problem?” 

“The note,” Vos gasped, chuckling still. “I know who sent it. He was that ass we dealt with at Solomon’s Temple, Skywalker.” 

“An  _ Assassin? _ ” Hondo hissed, as if he just checked into the situation. 

“Well, only in name. He does not adhere to the Creed, to ou- _ their _ rules. But he is favored by the Mentor.” Vos glanced over it, shaking his head. “An arrogant bastard.” 

As the Templars chatted over the next move, he scanned the room, eyes profiling and ranking. Finally, his eyes settled on Darts, and nodded to him. “You.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You’re the next target.” Vos sized him up, eyes glinting with knowing suspicion, and then said, “Best plan accordingly.” 

“How sure are you?” 

Ventress’s voice was hesitant, angry, but Vos didn’t even flinch. “I am positive, my lady. And if we don’t move now we can’t protect him.” His eyes lingered on Ventress, who stared at the floor scanning her memories to see if there was another way out. 

“How much do you trust this  _ Assassin _ anyway?” Hondo shot out, and Vos sent him a death glare. 

“If I were still an Assassin, you would not be breathing,” Vos snarled out, but his heart shattered as he said it. Ventress’s eyes flicked to him, as if she sensed it, sensed the Assassin blood still raging like an untamed bull. 

“It’s not how much I trust him,” Ventress began, eyes scanning the table. “It’s how much we need to keep this Order alive. So, by lack of a better plan, we’ll do it. Darts, Vos and I will personally escort you to Jerusalem and set up a system that will make it very difficult for this  _ brat _ to get to you.” 

“I don’t consent to this!” Darts snarled, eyes flashing. 

“Get over it. You’re going to have to deal with it. Your operations are too valuable to lose. Get your men together, D’Nar.” Ventress clapped her hands, signifying the end of the meeting. “We will leave as soon as possible.” 

If Darts D’Nar continued to complain, neither he nor Ventress heard it. In the hallway, she shoved him against the wall, knife at his throat. “Start talking.” 

“Whoa, what is your  _ problem? _ ” Vos eyed her, her wild blue eyes boring holes into his. 

“How sure are you that we’re not walking into a trap?” 

Vos paused, and then sighed. “I’m positive. Skywalker is a lapdog. After Vindi he’s  _ bound _ to go back and seek some sort of justification from his master. You  _ know _ where Masyaf is. You know we have at least two weeks. But that’s only if we move  _ now, _ and you just suck it up and  _ trust me. _ ” 

The knife dug deeper into his throat, and he refrained from swallowing or breathing until it was gone. 

“Fine.” Asajj nodded to him, swallowing. “But if you’re wrong....” 

“I’d put my life on my characterization of people, Asajj Ventress. I read people, Ventress, and Anakin Skywalker is one of the easiest people to read.” He nodded towards the door. “Let’s get going, shall we?” 

\-------

The road to Jerusalem was harder than Anakin had anticipated. The memories of the final trip with Quinlan haunted him at every turn; the places where they had camped at night, Quinlan drawing him inevitably into the conversation each time instead of leaving him in the silence he thought he wanted. There were places where he’d remember a stupid joke Quinlan would tell them just to break the awkward silence. He tried to not dwell on the memories, but it was hard when there was nothing else to distract him. 

When he passed the fork that would take him to the Temple, he almost turned his horse down it for no other reason than burying Quinlan’s body.  _ Although I doubt the Templars left much of anything behind. If I could even access it from the collapsed tunnels. _ His throat grew tight with the effort of containing the sobs that wanted to come out.  _ You were my friend too, Quin, and I didn’t even know it. I’m sorry. _

Anakin pushed his horse to a slow lope, leaving the memories and sorrow behind with each stride of distance. He felt relieved when he saw the walls of Jerusalem looming in the distance and the increase of people on the road headed into the city. It was easy to hide among the crowd after ditching his horse to enter the city.  

After a quick stop to eat something other than dry rations, he hit the rooftops towards where he remembered the Bureau being located in the Rich District. When he dropped down on the stone courtyard, he braced himself for the scathing remarks he knew were coming from the Rafiq. 

Two years ago, one of Kenobi and Vos’ friends, a man a few years older than they were, named Bail Antilles, had been named Rafiq of Jerusalem. Kenobi, especially, had been close to the man, going out of his way to visit Jerusalem often. 

“Safety and peace, Rafiq.” 

“Your presence here deprives me of both. What do you want?” Bail didn’t even look up from his paperwork to see who it was.  _ Guess that means Kenobi sent a message ahead of me. _

“As I’m sure you know, Al Mualim has asked-”

“Asked that you perform some menial task, in an effort to redeem yourself. So be out with it.” Bail looked up to give him a withering glare, disgust layered under a heavy gaze.

Anakin looked away first, “Tell me what you can about the one they call Darts D’Nar.”

The sneer was one so similar to Kenobi’s that he wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. “It is your duty to locate and assassinate the man, Anakin. Not mine.”

Not able to resist the challenge, Anakin snarled, “You'd do well to assist me. His death benefits the entire land.”

“Do you deny his death benefits you as well?” Bail’s voice was level and calm, his eyebrow raised in askance. 

Anakin huffed in irritation, knowing he was being drawn into an argument. If there was a way he could get out of it-- “Such things do not concern you.”  _ Smooth, Skywalker. So smooth. _

The sound of Bail’s hand slapping the wood made Anakin jump.  _ Yep. You failed, miserably. _ “Your actions very much concern me! Vos was my friend and it’s your fault he’s dead! Obi-Wan has been my dear friend since we were children and now I can barely get him to respond to a simple letter! All of this is your arrogant, bitch-ass fault!” Bail was breathing heavy in anger, his body trembling in barely contained rage. “You are a disgrace to this order, Skywalker, and you damn well know it.” 

“Then don't help me. I'll find him myself.” Anakin turned to leave, not willing to show the intimidation to the man. The truth in Bail’s words stung worse than the painful nostalgia he’d gone through getting here.  _ Worthless, useless, disgrace.... All your fault.  _

“Wait, wait. It won't do having you stumble about my city like a blind man. Better you know where to begin your search.” Bail’s voice had lost the righteous anger, sounding more tired and defeated after his tirade.

Anakin didn’t turn around, but he stopped his forward movement, “I'm listening.”

“I can think of three places. South of here, in the markets that line the border between the Muslim and Jewish Districts, to the north, near the mosque of this district, and east, in front of Saint Anne's Church, close to the Bab Ariha gate.”

“Is that everything?”

“It's enough to get you started, and more than you deserve.” Bail had apparently dismissed him as the sound of writing resumed, the rasp almost relaxing to the spooked Assassin.

Anakin inclined his head in thanks before launching himself up the fountain wall and back out to the city to chase down the intel on his target.

\-------

_ There is nothing more satisfying than a clean desk from being entirely caught up. _ Obi-Wan felt rather smug, it had taken days of working from sunup til well past sundown to get everything done but it felt worth it. Now that he had been at his post for several months he had been able to develop a system that cut his work down to a more manageable level since he had to balance his time between contracts and the novice classes. 

The smile on his face apparently startled Padme when she entered his office and immediately halted to stare at him worried. His smile only grew wider as he stood up to greet her, “Ah, Padme! How good to see you on this fine day?”

She smiled back hesitantly, “Any particular reason for the cheerful mood?”

Gesturing widely to his clean desk, “I’m caught up! It’s a rather delightful feeling. Why, you don’t have any bad news, do you?”

Relief evident on her face, she grinned back at him. “No, nothing like that at all. Actually, I have a favor to ask.”

“Alright, any reason we can’t discuss this on a walk through the gardens?”

“No reason at all, lead on, dear sir.” She moved out of the doorway to let him pass, falling in step beside him.

“So what is this favor? This isn’t some set up from Satine, right?” Lately the scholar had been pestering his office at least every other day with some excuse or another, while it had been rather annoying at first, her gifts of perfectly prepared tea had made him more receiving of the intrusion.

“Satine? No?” She looked genuinely confused for a moment before continuing, “I actually need to make a trip to Jerusalem for supplies. In the past when I’ve sent a list with one of the Assassins or Novices, they invariably return with either the wrong items or they’re in such poor quality that they’re worthless. I’ve decided this time that I need to go myself to make sure it’s right. Which leads me to that favor, I need an escort. I figured that you might want to stop in and see our old friend, Bail, anyway.”

The gardens were light and airy as they walked through them, flowers blooming in various states now that spring was in full swing. Obi-Wan stopped next to the fountain at the center of the gardens, considering Padme’s request. 

“I don’t see why not, it’d be a good time to take some of the older Novices out in the field for some experience.” He really wanted to get the two girls in his class some supervised experience before setting them loose. He truly believed that their additions would be beneficial to the lethality of the Creed, but if they froze under pressure, if they hesitated, he wanted to know  _ now,  _ before they got themselves killed and the experiment was deemed a failure. 

Padme grinned. “You’re thinking about Ahsoka and Barriss, aren’t you?” 

Kenobi raised his hands in defeat. “I want to make sure they’re ready. I’ll see if Qui-Gon has anyone else he’d like to send for experience as well. ” 

“Perfect! I should be ready no later than mid-morning, let me know when you’d like to depart.” She smiled and left him to his own plans.

\-------

Qui-Gon’s recommendations were not the same as the ones Obi-Wan would’ve chosen, but he’d accepted them all the same and sent them notice to ready themselves. Saw and Kanan were two completely different students. Saw was the one who had nearly punched Ahsoka before Skywalker had stepped in. Meanwhile, Kanan was shy, timid, kind; but Kenobi had read his reports, his statistics. He’d been apprenticed to Mace, and he  _ thrived _ under the pressure. Saw was a loose cannon, under Rex, and grieved over his lost sister. He was reckless, angry, and lashed out at everyone and everything. 

They all loaded up on the wagon Kenobi had procured along with their disguises. He and Padme dressed in fine silks and jewelry befitting a wealthy Christian family, their weapons concealed through cleverly designed clothing except his sword which was in a artistically decorated sheath. Ahsoka and Barriss quietly sat beside Padme as Kanan sat across from them, Saw leading the horses as Padme leaned into Kenobi’s shoulder. 

“I still think this is a terrible idea,” Saw harrumphed, and Ahsoka rolled her eyes. 

“You’re only bitter because you didn’t get your way, Saw. Besides, you look good handling those horses, all that’s left is for you to look intimidating.” she shot back, and Barriss’s eyes widened, her hand grasping Ahsoka’s in a silent warning. All four of the novices were on edge with excitement at their first assignments. 

“Handmaidens are  _ quiet, _ ” Padme reminded her, but a small grin was on her face. 

“And so are guards worth their salt,” Kenobi teasingly remarked. Saw scoffed, but said little more. 

Days passed and Kenobi watched as he saw every place he and Quinlan had camped throughout their journeys. Padme, sensing his discomfort, gripped his hand tightly or laid a comforting touch to his shoulder. When the gates of Jerusalem towered over them, Obi-Wan finally relaxed. 

They left the horses and wagon outside at one of the stables for hire, making sure to leave a generous amount for their care so they would still have good horses and their wagon waiting for when they were ready to leave. Their belongings were mostly left for Saw and Kanan to carry, the girls having a bit of a giggle at their expense. At a sharp look from Obi-Wan, they all quieted down. 

“Everyone remember their roles?” Kenobi asked, looking around. “Remember, we are a  _ unit. _ Ahsoka, Barriss, you both have your blades, right?” 

The two girls nodded briskly, tying their scarves around their heads and face. Padme donned her silk scarf, dark hair hidden under luscious, vibrant indigo, and Kanan nodded to both Obi-Wan and Padme. “Father. Mother.” 

“Son,” they grinned back in the shared joke. 

The road into Jerusalem was crowded with merchants, other pilgrims, scholars, and farmers, all of them stopped in a line at the guard checkpoint. No one bothered them as they waited behind a farmer and his sons who complained the entire time, much to everyone’s displeasure. When it was finally their turn, the guards waiting looked them over with a bored expression, “State your business.” 

Kenobi put on his most charming smile, bowing his head in respect while sliding into his native Gaelic accent. “Good sirs, we are Christians on a pilgrimage to the Holy City. We are kind people. We only wish to unite ourselves closer with God.” 

The guards looked past him, nodding to the weapons and three others. “Yet you carry weapons and bring slaves.” 

“These are troubled times, sirs. We must be able to defend ourselves from the criminals that plague these country paths. With my wife and son are my wife’s handmaidens and our guard. They are not slaves, but servants.”

The captain narrowed his eyes, giving Saw another look over, then nodded. “Very well. You may enter.” 

Kenobi bowed his head in respect once more, thanking the man thoroughly, then took his ‘wife’s’ arm as he moved into the city.

Once in the rich district, they took to the rooftops, the group helping Padme across as quickly and efficiently as they could with their packs. One by one, they dropped into the Bureau, the voice of Bail coming from inside. “Skywalker, I  _ swear, _ if you brought back Templar-- Obi-Wan!” 

Bail rushed out, nearly knocking his friend over in a bear hug. Obi-Wan relaxed, grinning as he hugged him back. “I’ve been so busy, Bail, I’m so sorry.” 

“I heard you got a promotion! And Padme!” Bail rushed to her, pressing kisses to either side of her face. “My darling, how are you?” 

“I’m good, Bail. Satine sends her greetings as well.” Padme returned the gesture with a smile before hugging him tight. “Things aren’t the same in Masyaf without you, I’ve run out of people to argue with! Are you enjoying your post here?”

“It’s certainly kept me busy, seems there’s always birds flying in with more contracts or orders.” He gave a pointed stare at Kenobi, raising a brow, “Although I think that has a lot to do with our new Master of Contracts.”

Laughing, Obi-Wan clapped Bail hard on his back, “Yes, well, I’m only giving you your fair share, my friend. I’m not to blame for how many are wanted dead in Jerusalem.” 

While the three were catching up, the Novices quickly stripped out of their disguises and back into their standard grays. There was some laughing at each other’s expense as they tried to sort out what belonged to who since it had all been shoved into one bag. 

“I think I may keep these silk undergarments,” Ahsoka grinned, whispering to Barriss. “They’re far more comfortable than my old ones.”

Giggling, Barriss leaned closer to whisper, “Well, there has to be some sort of compensation for dealing with Saw and Kanan this whole time.” The boys merely shared a look and rolled their eyes.

“So, Master Kenobi, who have you brought with you this time?” Bail smiled at the Novices kindly, humor evident in his eyes.

“This is Ahsoka, Barriss, Saw, and Kanan. Some of the novices I have brought for you to torture while we’re here.” He pointed to them in turn, each executing a small bow of respect to the Rafiq.

“Ah, yes, the two female Novices I’ve heard so much about! It’s about time. I certainly look forward to working with you both. And the young gentleman too, of course.” He smiled at them again, “Now I’m sure you’re tired from the road, so it’d be best if you started the cook fire for dinner now. The firewood and pots are in the storage room. Water can be fetched from the well a few blocks from here. Off you go.” 

At the collective groaning and sighing, the three laughed without sympathy. Kenobi made a shoo motion, “Novices exist to serve the Masters, when you’re all Assassins, you too can enjoy the benefit. The door should be right before the storage room for fetching water. Consider it a practice of stealth.”

Bail shared a conspiratorial look with Obi-Wan, “I remember when that was us, how we would complain and begin every sentence with ‘When I earn my Whites,’” they both chuckled at the memories, Bail settling on a stool behind the counter, “So what brings you to Jerusalem besides the Novices?”

Padme settled on another stool, smoothing her skirts out, “I’m here to replenish some of our more rare stock and possibly find some new suppliers. We’ve been busy with several illnesses running through Masyaf and my supplies have dwindled.” She winked at him, “That and catching up with an old friend.”

“Has Skywalker reported in yet? He should’ve beaten us by a few days, but I wanted to get some field observation for my progress report to Al Mualim.” Obi-Wan stripped off the fashionable belt and outer-tunic before leaning against the counter.

“Yes, he’s out searching for information on Darts D’Nar as we speak.” Bail grimaced, sighing. “I may have been a little harsh on him, but God knows he deserves it.” 

“Did you tell him to cry in a corner?” Ahsoka piped up, having just set down her armload of firewood, a twinkle in her eye. “‘Cause Skyguy deserves it.” 

“Skyguy? _ ” _ Kenobi questioned sharply, and Ahsoka flinched. 

“Yeah, um.... He’s worked with me on some of my weapons lessons before he left to come here. I don’t know if Qui-Gon put him up to it or not, but he’s actually pretty good at it and more patient than I would’ve believed possible. You even commented on my rapid improvement right before we left.” 

Kenobi and Bail stared at her in shock as she shifted from foot to foot, twiddling her fingers in a nervous habit before nodding her head and returning to her task in the storage room.

“I don’t know whether to be furious he disobeyed my direct order or impressed that he’s actually good at it,” Kenobi muttered, and Bail laughed. 

“Oh, let it go, Kenobi. We can both admit that she’s learning from the best, even if it is Al Mualim’s attack dog.” He clapped Kenobi on the shoulder, then nodded to Padme. “I would wait until Skywalker returns from his recon to go to the market. Danger tends to follow wherever he goes.” 

“All the more reason to go now, make sure he’s not endangering innocents,” Kenobi muttered. 

“I’m not fond of him, but I do not wish for his failure!” Bail snapped, then sighed, looking away. “Vos was my friend too, Kenobi. Remember that. You can’t just--” 

“It is  _ my right, _ given to me by Allah in the Qu’ran that I may seek my revenge three times before He will condemn me,” Kenobi snarled back. “But I do not wish his failure or death, not now. Not until this Templar threat is dealt with.” 

Padme stepped between them, staring each of them down with a hard gaze, “Is this really a conversation to be had amongst reunited friends? Why don’t we put some tea on and simply enjoy one another’s company?” The both backed down with mumbled apologies to each other and she smiled.

“Do you still keep some of that tea I like?” Obi-Wan asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

Bail smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, “I always have some on hand, just for you.”  

\-------

“Rafiq.” 

The man groaned, turning to face Anakin as he held his tea in his hand. “Come to waste more of my time?” 

Anakin opened his mouth to respond, but his eyes settled on Kenobi and he flinched. Seeing Padme and Ahsoka standing next to Kenobi, he quickly schooled his face into bored indifference and ignored Padme’s worried look. He inclined his head in greeting, “Master Kenobi, Snips, Padme.”

They muttered their respects back, Kenobi only responding after a sharp elbow from Padme, and Anakin turned back to face Bail. “I’ve found D’Nar. I’m ready to begin my mission.” 

“That is for Bail to decide, not you,” Kenobi retorted. 

Bail raised his hand to silence him and shot Kenobi a look in warning, “Tell me what you know.”

“Very well. Darts D’Nar traffics in human lives, kidnapping Jerusalem's citizens and selling them into slavery. His base is a warehouse located inside the barbican, north of here. As we speak, he prepares a caravan for travel. I'll strike while he's inspecting his stock. If I can avoid his men, he himself should prove little challenge.” As he spoke, some of his old confidence returned in his surety of the task ahead and the discreet admiration he found on the Novice’s faces. He pointedly switched his gaze from Bail to Obi-Wan as he spoke the last sentence, his lip curled in a silent show of defiance.

“ _ Little challenge?”  _ Kenobi snapped, rising to his feet. Padme tried to grab him, but he shook her free, his face twisted in barely controlled anger. “Listen to you! Such arrogance--” 

_ “Kenobi!” _ Bail snapped, pointing to the door. “Out, go calm down. You are overstepping your authority in my Bureau.” 

Kenobi hesitated, hands clenching and unclenching in anger at his side in indecision. After a minute of staring at Anakin with ill concealed hate, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. 

“Are we finished? Are you satisfied with what I’ve learned?” Skywalker asked, body visibly vibrating tension from the confrontation. Padme slumped at the look of nervousness that flashed across his face, quickly replaced with the schooled indifference.

“No, but it’ll have to do.” Bail slipped behind the counter, reaching into a box and grabbing a feather. He held it out to Anakin, but didn’t let it go, forcing Anakin to meet his pointed gaze. “Rest, prepare, cry in the corner. Do whatever it is you do before a mission; only make sure you do it quietly.” He let go, dismissing the Assassin with a wave of his hand.

Anakin nodded, stuffing the feather into a belt pouch without a word before stalking out of the bureau.

As soon as he disappeared from sight, Ahsoka released the laugh she’d been holding in, “Oh the look on his face when you told him to cry in the corner.” She wiped a tear from her eye, leaning on Barriss for support.

The corners of Bail’s mouth quirked up in amusement, “There are some privileges to rank, but do remember that respect is important and earned. When it comes time for you to take contracts, your information should be clear, concise and thorough. Usually, the Rafiq and Assassin will sit and discuss the plan in detail, but Skywalker has always been a special case. The behavior that you saw is not acceptable and will be a quick way to earn punishment. Arrogance has no place in the Brotherhood, it will get you and your brothers killed as it did Quinlan Vos. If it had been anyone but Skywalker, Al Mualim would have executed them on the spot, regardless of rank.” He looked at each of the Novices, imparting the seriousness of his words with his somber expression, “The behavior of Master Kenobi was also not acceptable. You must treat your insubordinates with respect, especially if you are relying on them to carry out a task for you. An insubordinate, peer, or even those of a higher rank than you, all deserve your respect. We are a Brotherhood, a family, and do any less is to spit upon our family.”

“Is Kenobi always like that with Skywalker?” Kanan asked quietly.

Bail sighed, “Kenobi is a good man, Kanan. But since Quinlan Vos died because of Skywalker’s arrogance, he’s changed. He’s become a different person. At heart, he is still a good, just, kind, and fair man. But he’s let himself fixate on the injustice he feels has been done to him.” Bail waved his hand, sitting back on the pillow at the table. “He’s  _ always _ had a temper. Kenobi is easily one of the strongest fighters among our Brotherhood, I’m sure you’ve seen that in your lessons, but he has always preferred to perform negotiations and mediations on Al Mualim’s behalf than to shed blood.“ Bail stroked his chin, then shrugged. “Obi-Wan Kenobi is a man of another kind and you would do well to pay heed to his example in everything not pertaining to Skywalker.” 

Kanan nodded, eyes lowered. “Forgive my prying.” 

Bail nodded his head towards the brunette boy, then sipped his tea. “There is nothing to forgive. We deal in as much knowledge as we do death. Questions are a natural part of this process and while not everything can or will be answered, there is no harm in asking.” 

\-------

It had been too easy to slip into the warehouse undetected, Anakin realized, as the doors shut and locked behind him. He looked around warily, weapons loosened from their sheaths and ready, waiting for the rest of the trap to fall around him, but nothing happened. As he continued further into the warehouse, he caught a glimpse of a figure moving in the shadows by the window on the upper floor before it disappeared. 

“What now, slaver?” Skywalker shouted, and he could almost hear the man flinch.

“Do not call me that! I only wish to help them as I was once helped!” The voice echoed through the warehouse, making it hard to pinpoint exactly where it had come from.

Anakin looked around, spreading his arms to gesture to the warehouse. “You do no kindness imprisoning them like this!” 

D’Nar snorted, shaking his head. “Imprisoning them? I’m protecting them, preparing for the journey that lies ahead.” 

“What journey?” Anakin’s eyes scanned for a way to the slaver, but found none on his path. “It is a life of servitude.” 

The man scoffed once more. “You know nothing! It was folly to even bring you here! To think that you might see and understand!” 

“I understand well enough!” Anakin yelled back, his eyes searching the shadows for any signs of movement. “Show yourself!” 

A door opened to the side of the Assassin, spilling light into the large room around him. He knew he was falling further in the trap, but walked through the door anyway. The room he entered was as empty as the other had been, but much larger, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“You want to see the ones who called you here?” D’Nar laughed, and Anakin bristled. 

“You did not call me here! I came on my own!” 

The laughing was heard once more, and D’Nar’s voice rang through the space again, “Did you? Who unbarred the door? Cleared the path? Did you once raise your blade against a single man of mine, huh? No. All this, I did for you. Step into the light then, and I will grant you one final favor.” 

A ceiling hatch opened above his head, spilling light into the center of the room and chasing away some of the shadows. Anakin moved into the light, knuckles white as he clenched his fist tightly with the effort it took to not draw his weapon. His hood provided enough shade from the bright overhead light that he had no problem picking out D’Nar’s form as he stepped out of the shadows and into view.

D’Nar spread his arms, gesturing around him, “Now I stand before you, Assassin. What is it that you desire?” 

“Come down here! Let’s settle this with honor!” Anakin bellowed, drawing his dagger as guards left the shadows of the room and surrounded him. 

“Why must it always come to violence? It seems I cannot help you, for you do not wish to help yourself. And I cannot allow my work to be threatened. You leave me no choice. You must die.” D’Nar gestured to his guards, not moving from his spot on the upper level.

The guards pounced, coming at him from all sides with their swords drawn. Anakin took one out with a throwing knife and grabbed his sword as he rolled over the body to avoid a strike aimed for his shoulder.  cut through them as if they were nothing. His dagger and hidden blade worked in tandem, blocking blows and finding openings in defenses. When the last guard fell, he finally spied the scaffolding that led to the upper level. As he scaled the scaffolding, D’Nar darted out of a different hatch, escaping out onto the rooftops of Jerusalem.

It took far less time than Anakin expected to catch up with him, tackling D’Nar to the ground on a side street. They wrestled before Anakin landed a hard blow to his ribs, knocking the air out of D’Nar’s chest and ending his life quickly. Again, the world faded into the gray fog with just him and D’Nar. 

“You’ve nowhere to run now,” Anakin chided. “Share your secrets with me.” 

D’Nar grinned, bloodied teeth flashing out from his lips. “My part is played. The Brotherhood is not so weak that my death will stop its work.” 

Skywalker hesitated, sitting back on his haunches. “What Brotherhood? The Assassin?” 

Darts laughed, which turned to coughing. “Al Mualim is not the only one with designs for the Holy Land.” He rested his head back, shaking his head. “And that’s all you’ll have from me.” 

“Then we are finished; beg forgiveness from your God.”

D’Nar paced, waving his arms, “He has long abandoned us, long abandoned the men and women I took into my arms.” 

Anakin paused. “What do you mean?” 

D’Nar laughed. “Beggars, whores, addicts, lepers. Do they strike you as proper  _ slaves? _ Unfit for even the most menial tasks?” He snorted, looking defiantly at the tip of the blade that hung over his gaze. “No. I took them not to sell, but to  _ save _ ! And yet, you’d kill us all, for no other reason than it was asked of you.” 

“No,” Anakin murmured, “you profit from the war, from the lives lost and broken.” 

“Yes, you would think that,  _ ignorant _ as you are.” He chuckled, “Wall off your mind, eh? They say it’s what your kind do best. Do you see the irony in this?” He paused, waiting for a response, then shook his head. “No, not yet it seems. But you will. But.... you will.” 

D’Nar slumped, eyes gazing forward, unblinking, and his body lay still. 

The world came back to focus sharply, a woman’s scream piercing his eardrum. Anakin drew the feather across the wound, staining it red with blood, just as a contingent of guards came around the corner on their patrol. He cursed under his breath as they shouted and pointed at him, one leaving to inevitably ring the city alarm. 

He ran, scaling up a wall to escape to the rooftops only to run into archers. Briefly, he wondered if Kenobi had tipped the guards or if it had just been bad luck. Everytime he managed to lose them, another would come across him and shout for more to follow him. His energy was starting to flag, every breath causing his lungs to ache with the effort and his legs threatening to give out as he climbed up yet another wall. The sun was beginning to set as he finally managed to lose them, the bells ceasing their ringing.  _ I am so fucked. _

Dread set in as he wearily made his way back to the Bureau. He prayed to every god he could think of that Kenobi would still be gone when he dropped through the grate. His body ached as he took a moment to splash water on the back of his neck to cool off before he went into the Bureau proper.

Kenobi was waiting for him with a fake smile, Bail, Padme and the novices nowhere in sight. “Anakin! Wonderful to see you return to us! And how fared the mission?” His voice was dripping with happy sarcasm.

Anakin managed not to flinch, “The deed is done. D’Nar is dead.”

The forced laugh in response was caustic and biting, “Oh, I know, I know. In fact, the entire city knows! Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?!” 

Excuses flew to mind, but Anakin shoved them down, knowing it would do him no good. He shifted his weight, crossing his arms and scowling, “A skilled Assassin ensures his work is noticed by the many.”

“No! A skilled Assassin maintains control of his environment! He is the knife in the dark, the unspoken and unseen threat!” Kenobi spat, “You are a disgrace!” 

The arrival of Bail made Obi-Wan back down, shifting his glare from Anakin to Bail before schooling his face into more of a displeased expression than angry.

“We can argue the details all you’d like, Kenobi, but the fact remains I’ve accomplished the task set to me by Al Mualim,” He wasn’t quite gloating, but it wasn’t far from it.

Growling, Kenobi pushed forward but Bail grabbed his shoulder and held on tight, “Go then. Return to the old man. Let us see with whom he sides.” He shrugged out of Bail’s grasp and left for one of the back rooms. 

Bail held Anakin’s gaze before shaking his head sorrowfully, “We are all on the same side, Anakin. Remember that.”

“Tell  _ Master Kenobi _ that, Rafiq.” He sneered, slamming his hand down on the counter with the feather before pushing his tired body up the wall and out of the Bureau. 

Lost in his thoughts, Anakin headed towards the market to replace his depleted rations before he hit the road. While looking through a merchant’s selection, he saw a flash of white hair and stopped. Their eyes met for a brief moment before he started threading through the crowd in her direction. When she sprinted down the road, he wasted no time in charging after her, intent on his prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THAT WAS A LONG ACCIDENTAL HIATUS!  
> Neither Icse nor I believed it would take us this long to get the inspo we needed to finish up this chapter. The next ones are going to be full of triggering stuff, so we'll let you know as they come around.  
> Much love, thanks for all your comments and kudos and subscriptions! Go look at the one-shot-Machine Icse's work, I'm not even kidding. I'm not sure how she gets so much done.  
> (To be fair, this time we weren't waiting on me.)  
> Safety and peace and may the Force be with you,  
> Sid and Icse


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Referenced AND semi-explicit torture
> 
> Story is tagged and rated accordingly.

Quinlan started to get worried when Asajj didn't return from the market. When she'd told him she was going, he’d lightly teased her about becoming too domestic. She only punched his arm in retaliation:  _ “Everyone has to eat. Stay here.”  _

He started down the path he was pretty sure she would've taken and listened to the people passing. One particular conversation between two women caught his attention so he crept closer to them to eavesdrop, “...And then this woman ran past me and not a second later this man knocked right into me making me drop my pot of water! Right in front of old man Sallah’s fruit stall. It was so humiliating!” Quinlan grinned to himself and took off in a more sure direction; at least now he had a starting place. 

It was over a half hour later following little snippets of conversation, the shards of pots, knocked over crates, and other bits of destruction that finally let him to a darkened alley north of the market. First he saw the destruction littering the alley, crates knocked over in every direction, some smashed and others. It was in the darker corner he spied Ventress sitting on one of the crates with a body laid at her feet and her sword resting against their stomach. 

Her tuneless whistle ceased as she took notice of  him and smiled, “And here I thought it would take you much longer to come looking for me. Careful, Vos, I might start to think you care.” 

He grinned, “I’m always up for rescuing damsels in distress, sweetheart. Besides, I was only a little worried.” 

Rolling her eyes, she snorted in humored exasperation, “Yes, well, I ran into a little detour when this little boy thought he could take me on.” She gestured with her sword to the blood stained gray robed figure. 

Recognizing the robes as those belonging to a Novice Assassin, Vos’ heart sank. He forced a flirty smile on his face, “You’re going to put me out of a job, princess.”

“If you recall, I didn’t want you to begin with. As you can see, I clearly don’t need you.” Her voice was smug and condescending at the same time, face pulled in a disapproving frown. 

“Well, if you recall, darling, I didn’t quite have a choice either. Not that I mind guarding such a beautiful woman.” He winked at her before kneeling down to see if the Novice was still alive. When he pulled back the hood, he couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. Out of all the people he expected to see, it was certainly not Master Assassin Anakin Skywalker, the Eagle of Masyaf, his great almighty that had gotten him stuck in this situation in the first place. Still, he put his fingers to Skywalker's neck and felt for a pulse, finding it steady and strong.

“You recognize him?” Ventress asked, an eyebrow raised in question. 

Vos choked out a chuckle, “There’s no mistaking this face.” He sat back on his heels, caught in a moment of indecision as to whether reveal Skywalker’s identity or not. On one hand, it would definitely garner some trust with Ventress but on the other, she could decide to kill him right here and now.  _ Of course, it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it, the little shit. He certainly didn’t seem to care that he was going to get me or Kenobi killed. Plus, she’s going to kill him either way. _

“Well? Who is the little brat?” She tapped her sword against her boot in impatience.

“Skywalker himself.” Vos felt the disgust well up within himself at the betrayal even if it was deserved. 

Ventress was positively gleeful, “The same Skywalker who killed Hardeen, Vindi, and Darts? The one who sent Vindi’s head?”

“One in the same.” The disgust went even deeper.  _ Certainly can’t call myself an Assassin anymore, no Assassin would betray one of their own. _ He shoved the feelings far down, surrounded by Templars they would get him killed. 

“I’m happy I didn’t kill him then, it would’ve been far too quick and not near as satisfying.” She stood, favoring one leg that Quinlan just now noticed was bleeding. When he went to inspect it, she sent a withering glare at him, “It’s a scratch. Now hand me his weapons and carry the brat.”

“As you wish.” Vos bowed with a flourish of his hand, stripping the weapons off the unconscious Assassin and handing them to her with the exception of his hidden blade. Instead, he slid it on his wrist with a sly grin and a wink to Ventress who merely rolled her eyes at him. He heaved Anakin over his shoulder, grunting as the weight settled heavily over his shoulder, “I do hope you know a shortcut because he’s far heavier than he looks.”

“Oh, I’m sure a big, strong man like yourself will have little problem. Besides, we’ll be going to a different safe house as the other might be compromised.” Ventress ran a finger teasingly along his chest before turning and walking, albeit slower and stiffer than her normal gait, out of the alley and on the main street. She didn’t even look back to see if Vos was following. 

Both of them were nearing a snail’s pace by the time they stumbled through the doorway of the two-story hovel in the middle of the Poor District. It looked like every other hovel around it, but the inside was at least decent and not as run down as it looked to be from the outside. There were a few plain utilitarian furnishings in the main room and a set of stairs that led upstairs. 

Quinlan set Anakin on the dirt floor, groaning and stretching his back out, “I don’t think we have to worry about feeding him much, he certainly weighs enough.”

Ventress had settled down into a chair, loosening her armour and taking off her bracers and greaves, “Feed him? Do you think we run a charity here?”

“Mere mortals do require food, even if angels like you don’t.” He flashed her a flirty grin, rubbing his sore shoulders to loosen them up. “Where do you want me to put him?”

Stripped out of most of her armor, she was at least breathing easier; that  _ brat  _ had gotten at least one good blow that had certainly bruised her ribs in addition to the wound on her thigh. Quinlan had to pause to remember when he’d been on the whole “Anakin Skywalker is a brat” trail. 

“There’s a cellar, throw him in there and chain him to the table.” She talked with her hands as she inspected her thigh, sighing. “Everything you need should be there. I trust you’ll make sure he’s secure enough not to escape or it’ll be you down there instead of him.”  

Nodding, Vos heaved Anakin over his shoulder again, his legs aching with each stair as he descended into the cellar. He paused at what he thought was the bottom of the stairs, letting his eyes adjust to the dark room with only a long and small dirty window letting in weak, filtered sunlight. It was at least enough to determine that he was on the floor and make out a large shape in the middle of the room. He dropped him on the rough stone table, wincing as he heard his head thunk against the stone rather loudly,  _ You’re gonna have one hell of headache when you wake up, kid. _

It took him some stumbling around, but he found and lit a lamp, illuminating the rest of the small cellar. When he took in the full view of the room, he wished that he hadn’t. There was no doubt of the room’s intended purpose as he stared at implements hanging on the wall and arranged on the same table he’d found the lamp on. Rings were strategically placed on the table, the floor, the ceiling and walls.  

Ignoring the guilt welling up in him, he took the iron manacles hanging on the wall and quickly bound Anakin to the table, making sure to leave only a little room to wiggle. After that, he went ahead and did a cursory examination to make sure Anakin wouldn’t be dying anytime soon. Other than the gash in the back of his head, he seemed relatively unharmed.  _ Even though I don’t want to admit it, he is one of the most skilled in the Brotherhood. Which makes me wonder why he’s back in grays. Nevermind, Kenobi. _ He smiled to himself at the thought of his friend, already knowing just how insufferably smug he would be acting. The shorter hair was probably his doing as well, it was certainly something Vos would’ve done.  _ At least Kenobi’s getting some sort of revenge on my behalf. _

The pitiful pained groan that came from Anakin stirred him into motion, taking the lamp with him as he went back to the main floor. Anakin couldn’t see him or know he was alive, everyone needed to keep believing he was dead. Otherwise a lot more of his brothers would end up dying. 

Ventress was cursing while trying to wrap the wound on her leg. Immediately, Quinlan went over the help after blowing the lamp out and setting it by the cellar entrance. It was only as he knelt in front of her to look that he noticed her bare legs and that she was only clad in a long shirt. His mouth went dry, words escaping him. 

Slapping him upside the head, Ventress growled at him through gritted teeth, “If you’re not going to help, I’m more than capable of dressing this myself.”

Quinlan stared blankly back at her for a moment before shaking his head, “No, no, I’ll help. Do you have actual bandages here instead of that rag?”

“This isn’t a hospital if you happened to notice.” She bit back, relinquishing the torn cloth for him to wrap it.

“It’ll do for now, will you let me go get some medical supplies so we can treat this properly? At the very least you need clean bandages, but I’d prefer to stitch it together.” He tied the bandage tightly, patting her leg before the realization of where his hand was close to and snatching it away awkwardly. 

If Asajj noticed, she didn't say anything.“There are credits in my belt pouch; make sure to get plenty of extra just in case I feel  _ merciful _ . And get me something for the pain, I need to be fully functional for what I have planned.” Ventress waved in dismissal. 

Discovering there was a severe lack of doctors in the Poor District, it took Vos twice as long as he’d originally thought to return to the safe house. He’d not been exactly sure of what kind of pain relief she wanted, so he’d just bought several different ones to go with the basket of fresh bandages and needle with catgut thread. Just in case, he bought a strong sedative, figuring that even Skywalker’s hard head shouldn’t have too many more blows than it’d already had.

“I was beginning to think you’d decided to run off.” Ventress looked tired, wincing noticeably when she shifted her injured leg. 

“And leave you behind? What kind of bodyguard would that make me?” He chuckled, threading the hook-shaped needle and immersing it in the pot of boiling water he'd set up earlier. While it was sterilizing, he grabbed one of the clean bandages and dipped it in the water before kneeling in front of her again. 

Blood had soaked through the old bandage already, the wound still bleeding slowly. He looked her over again, noticing her face drawn tight in pain, “Did you decide to dance without me while I was gone?”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. The brat woke up and wouldn’t stop screaming, I went and shut the door so I could have some peace and quiet.” She winced as he scrubbed the wound clean, hissing between her teeth. 

“Do you want some of the pain stuff now? I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I bought a bit of everything.” He patted her thigh in apology before grabbing the basket with the remaining supplies and setting it next to her. While she made her selection, a few drops of hashish oil he noted, he grabbed the needle and thread from the boiling pot. He settled back on his knees at her side and moved everything within easy reach. Absentmindedly, he ran his calloused thumb over her other thigh in a soothing motion while waiting for the painkiller to kick in. 

Ventress relaxed into the touch for a moment before realizing who it was and shoving his hand off her leg, “Are you capable of doing  _ anything _ without acting perverse?” 

“As much as I’d like to sit and admire,” Quinlan sighed, not meeting her gaze as he started wiping up the fresh blood pooling in the wound, “this isn’t the time. I do have  _ some _ tact, my lady.” 

She made a noise of disbelief but said nothing further, letting time tick by. As he sat gently stitching the wound back together, she stared at the flames, not showing any sign of further pain. “What was it like, growing up in the Creed?” 

“Eh,” Vos shrugged. “I was an outsider. Never really fit in; too smartass, too this, too that. But as I got older, my skills shown through all that, and I eventually climbed my way through the ranks. Kenobi is my best friend.... Was, I guess. Based on Skywalker’s robes, I’d say everyone assumes I'm dead.” He tugged the thread a little tighter than he intended and she flinched, but did not otherwise move. 

“Tell me about Kenobi. How did you meet?” 

“I shouldn't tell you this,” Quinlan hummed, tossing a dreadlock out of his eyes. 

“I keep plenty of secrets from Maul; your little playmate Kenobi can be another one.” 

Quinlan paused, looking up at her blue eyes to seek her intention. There wasn’t the malicious intent from earlier, but other than that he couldn’t get any clear idea. Figuring it couldn’t hurt, he sighed and he set back to work. 

“Kenobi's parents were Catholic missionaries. They were killed when he was young for refusing to bow to the Crusaders.” Vos bit his lip, eyes narrowing in focus as he finished tying off the final stitch. “Al Mualim took him in. The rest of the kids, they taunted him. He didn't speak any Arabic, Hebrew, any Egyptian.... Just Latin, Gaelic, and English. We became friends because we were both the oddballs, the ones no one thought would do well. Kenobi taught me Gaelic, I taught him Arabic. We’ve been friends ever since.” Quinlan nodded to Ventress. “What about you? How’d such a pretty girl get involved with such a crude man?” 

Ventress laughed, but it was hollow. “Maul was the only one who took me seriously when I told the Crusaders I wanted to fight. They told me I had to be a nurse, be a cook, anything but a soldier. Maul saw my drive. He took me in and taught me how to fight, the art of spying, many things. I was about fifteen at the time. My mother, she had followed the Crusaders to Venice. She stayed there and urged me on. My father, he was never around. My mother and I were not rich, but we could fend for ourselves.” She winced once more despite his gentleness as he rubbed the ointment over the new stitches. “When I was twenty, I had gotten a letter from Venice. No more Mother. Maul, the Templar, they're my family. They're all I have. I can't betray them.”

“I didn't say anything about betraying them,” Quinlan hummed, brown-gold eyes studying her. “You should get some rest. I’ll keep watch while you sleep.” He helped her to the partitioned off cot in the corner of the room, pouring a cup of water and leaving it with the vial of hashish oil on the bedside table. 

“Vos,” she called as he turned to walk away. He paused, turning to her. “You're not as incompetent as I thought.” 

He laughed softly, grinning. “You don't really know me yet, princess. I'll give you more time and not being in a bit of a  haze to actually say that to me and mean it. Good night, Asajj.” He pulled the curtain closed to give her some privacy. As he neared the cellar entrance he could hear yelling and cursing in at least four different languages.  _ Guess his headache isn’t quite what I’d thought it would be, if he’s yelling then he’s fine. I’ll check on him in the morning. _

Vos settled down with his back against the wall, facing the door, with his sword across his lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable position he’d slept in, but it kept him in a light doze instead of an actual sleep. A few times he’d woken up from a noise outside the door, but each time it proved to be nothing more than a drunk or a person going about their early morning business.

When the sky began to lighten with the pre-dawn, he got up and stretched before taking care of his morning ablutions. Ventress seemed to be still sleeping when he chanced a quick look, looking far more peaceful than he normally saw her. He went about stoking the cook fire that had died down, replacing the water he’d used last night with fresh water and mixing in some porridge and grain mixture he found in a locked cabinet. It would take time to cook, so it was as good of time as any to go check on Skywalker.

The Templar clothing he had didn’t provide an easy way to conceal his identity like his Assassin robes did. They hadn’t retrieved their travel bags yet from the previous safe house either so there weren’t any additional clothes for him to fashion something out of either. He spied Ventress’ cloak lying on top of her stripped armor and hoped she would forgive him as he cut the muddy, bloody portion off to give him a relatively clean bit of cloth. It was just big enough to fashion a bit of a hijab out of, covering everything but his eyes. 

Satisfied his identity was well concealed, he re-lit the lamp and descended into the cellar. It was much easier without carrying a body down the stairs and actually having some light to guide his way. He sat the lamp down on the same table as before along with the pitcher of watered down wine laced with a sedative from the doctor he’d thought to bring.

Skywalker was still bound to the table much to his relief, his eyes focused on the flickering lamp like it was a lifeline. His wrists were already caked with blood from struggling against the restraints, but Vos hadn’t expected any less. Everyone in the Brotherhood knew Anakin’s weakness even if they didn’t dare breathe it out loud when he was near. 

When he approached with the cup he’d poured, the fearful blue eyes locked with his and he was thrown back in time to a much younger Anakin, the one who was terrified of the dark, the little boy who would seek Quinlan and Obi-Wan out when he woke from nightmares and crawled in one of their beds. He’d seen the same wide fearful eyes when he’d pulled Anakin out of the river, half drowned, after he was pushed in. Despite his anger at the younger man, he still felt pity for him. Quinlan shook himself from the memories and continued on his task.

“No! Get away from me!” Despite the fear in his eyes, Anakin’s face was twisted in an angry snarl as he jerked against the chains holding him. His voice was hoarse from the yelling, lacking the deadly acid tone such threats usually held.

Vos pressed his lips tight, trying not to chuckle at the empty threat and possibly give himself away. Instead he waited for Anakin to tire himself down with his thrashing before moving closer and grabbing his hair to force his head back. Pressing the cup to Anakin’s lips, he twisted the hair in his grip to make him open his mouth. Anakin choked on the first mouthful, but was more prepared for the second which he promptly spit back at Quinlan. 

Quinlan didn’t even hesitate, backhanding Anakin across his face and grabbing him even tighter by the hair. He made sure his voice was gruff and deeper than his normal voice, “It’s just watered wine, you brat. Now drink or thirst to death.”

Anakin warily drank the rest without much protest, tightening the grip on his hair enough of a warning to ward off any additional bad behavior. A part of Vos felt disgusted with himself; the other part of him spun with joy, enjoying the tiny taste of revenge and power. He certainly wouldn’t admit to enjoying the whimper coming from the proud Assassin as he realized the wine was laced with something when his eyes started drifting shut against his will. 

“You’re showing him  _ kindness, _ ” Ventress scoffed as he came up the stairs. “He tried to kill  _ me. _ He put you  _ here. _ ” 

“I also grew up with him, Ventress.” Vos raised an eyebrow, shutting the door to the cellar and unwrapping his makeshift hijab. “I remember the scared little boy from our childhood. You have to understand--” 

“No. I won’t understand your  _ sentimental _ ways, Quinlan Vos. Out of my way.” She went to grab the lamp from his hands, but he lifted it over his head.

“Do your sadistic pleasures include torturing while you’re still half-naked?” He raised his brow, giving her body a once over and grinning when she flushed in anger. “At least eat some breakfast and let me re-wrap your thigh before you go down there and get wrapped up in your torture.” He motioned her towards the area of the room serving as the kitchen and the bubbling pot of porridge. 

“There wasn’t much here, but this looked edible. I brought in some fresh water this morning and there’s some wine as well.” Quinlan rummaged around to find some type of plate or eating utensil, humming in victory when a cabinet produced two of each. 

Ventress sat at the pitiful table, having poured herself a cup of water and added a few more drops of hashish oil. “You’ll need to go fetch our belongings today, I trust your years of being an Assassin will let you do this without being caught or followed?”

“You wound my pride, Mistress.” He winked at her before they both set to eating the sad breakfast. Quinlan looked Ventress over while she was busy eating, she looked a tad paler than usual, but the pain lines in her face were eased.  _ She certainly can pull off the half-naked and still terrifying look. Like a goddess on her battlefield of death. _

He’d apparently been staring at her longer than he’d thought when he realized she was staring back at him with an irritated look on her face, “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”

“You want me to go now?” Vos hadn’t planned on leaving her alone with Skywalker so quickly.

“Yes, I would like to have clean clothes after I wash this morning. So hurry up.” She snapped at him.

“As you wish, princess.” He hesitated another minute before nodding to himself and leaving the house. 

 

As it turned out, there was no safe house to return to when he made the trek from their current residence to their previous one. Well, there was still some of it remaining like the walls, but the majority of it was still smoldering rubble. Anything that had survived the fire had probably been picked through already.

Still, they needed at least one change of clothing and some food to bolster their meager supplies. Luckily, he still had a pretty decent amount of money remaining after yesterday’s purchases.  _ Should be enough to at least get a few things and a decent bit of food. _

He remembered seeing a decent sized market approximately halfway between here and there, and quickly made his way towards it. Once there, he purchased a set of clothing for her first, choosing colors that would complement her fair skin and eyes in hopes of appeasing her anger with his thoughtfulness.  _ You’re teasing yourself, Vos, she’s going to murder you. _

After buying a few things for him and getting Anakin’s hidden blade sharpened --  _ dear God, when was the last time he took care of something? -- _ he gathered up some food and headed back towards their temporary home. 

On the trek back it finally hit him that he had been sent out a  _ second _ time and he’d not once thought about escaping. Both times he had money, had been completely alone, and in a familiar enough place he could easily disappear. He could return home, back to Masyaf, and escape her twisted grasp behind the tall stone walls of the Keep. 

For a moment, the urge to flee was overwhelming. He could see Masyaf’s familiar walls, smell the scent that was home, taste the air that was so familiar. But then it was gone, and he hadn’t even taken a step towards freedom.

Why did he keep going back? 

He twisted a dreadlock around his finger, biting his lip, as he thought about it. She had tortured him, for a whole  _ month. _ She was a stone-cold bitch, and his nickname of Ice Queen wasn’t just a play on her snow-white skin. 

He thought back to Kenobi, his friend who was undoubtedly grieving for him, and to Anakin who was chained in the cellar. Quinlan had even been the one to bring Anakin in and chain him up without once refusing to do it. He was living proof the Assassins were corrupt, that he could do these things, betray his brother, and not be crushed by the guilt of it. There was conflict in him over it, and some guilt, but he’d felt more guilt over hurting a dog than condemning Anakin to his fate. 

Yes, Anakin had been an arrogant, prideful prick, but was that really his fault? The Assassins took children and shaped them to be weapons. Most had killed at least one man outside of self-defense by the time they were sixteen. Anakin had been fourteen if he remembered correctly, pushed out into the field early by Al Mualim. From that point forward, he’d been groomed and honed by Al Mualim himself into the weapon he was now. 

It only served as more proof to the corruption that had twisted the Brotherhood. They had stagnated, guided by a man who was far more worried about perfecting their blades than keeping to purpose of the Creed. 

He stared at the missing ring finger on his left hand, the one he had given willingly at eighteen when he had been promoted to Assassin. He’d felt such pride through the pain, such devotion to the service of a Creed and a Brotherhood. 

He laughed to himself, ignoring the stares of passerbys.  _ Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent, I have followed that one only by justifying it with the question of who is truly innocent among us. Hide in plain sight, Anakin was not the only one who was guilty of being a showoff. Never compromise the Brotherhood, I’ve violated this in the worst of ways. I am no better than those I condemn. _

Still, Quinlan was unsure he could dedicate himself to the Templars in the same way the boy he had been committed himself to the Brotherhood. They were equally as corrupt, though they were far more honest about said corruption. Maybe he couldn’t commit himself to the Templar Order, but he could to Ventress. 

Already he felt a loyalty towards her, despite everything she had done to him. They’d been through thick and thin, from this current situation to the long trek across the desert from Acre to Jerusalem with D’Nar. And, if he was being honest with himself, he felt a little more than a duty to her as well. 

He’d found a purpose again in her zeal of bringing order to the world. Maybe not in the methods the Templars were using, but he knew he could influence her to different ways.

Maybe through the Templars he could bring change to the Assassin Brotherhood. They could be the driving force to make the Brotherhood adapt and compel them out of the spell of stagnation. There were still people within the Brotherhood he cared about, on the opposite side of the conflict he could still help them, keep them safe, and free them from corruption.

As Quinlan approached the safe house, he had to admit he felt a peace he’d been lacking. There was purpose and clear direction in his life once again. 

His heart was light as air as he opened the door and walked into the safehouse, still lost in his reverie when Ventress called out to him. 

“Finally! Did you go on a tour of the city while you were gone?” Ventress snatched the bag of clothing out of his hands before he’d even said a word in greeting.

“Impatient?” He noticed the fresh bandage on her leg and the lack of dirt or bloodstains on her skin, “Got the bath you wanted, I see. Do you need me to check your bandage?”

“I assure you I’m fully aware what a healthy wound looks like and how to bandage one.” She snapped at him, “Where are our belongings? None of this looks familiar.” She started stripping off her dirty shirt and small clothes without a hint of modesty.

Vos couldn’t help but stare at her naked body, his tongue swelling and mouth going dry. It wasn’t his first time seeing a naked woman by far, but the sight of her naked porcelain skin and the scars that littered it had blood rushing to his nether regions.

He realized he didn’t answer her question, “They were gone when I got there. I had to purchase some clothing with the leftover funds and enough food for a few days at least. ”

If she noticed his delayed response, she never said a word, just nodded at his response and pulled on her clean clothes. He could tell her mind was already focused on the task ahead and the man in the cellar. Even with his loyalties decided, Vos wasn’t sure he was altogether comfortable with the torture of a man he had formerly seen as a brother. Though, he reasoned that this could be a turning point for Anakin, a chance to purge his corruption and faults to be re-made back into a man instead of an unquestioning weapon. 

He was startled from his thoughts when Ventress shoved him out of her way, grabbing the lit lamp, and started down the stairs. Quinlan grabbed the makeshift hijab, wrapping it around his head as he hurried down the stairs after her. When they reached the base of the stairs, he took the lamp from her and used it to light the fixtures he’d seen on the walls earlier this morning, putting the depravity of the room into full light.

“Wake up!” Ventress snarled, dumping the pitcher of wine on Skywalker’s face. The man lurched forward and thrashed against the manacles, eyes wide, but glassy from the drug or the concussion or both. He looked at Quinlan, but the man doubted Skywalker actually saw him.

“Look at me.” Ventress selected a particularly wicked looking dagger from the wall, testing the edge with her fingers and immediately drawing blood. When Skywalker didn’t respond, she huffed, stomping over and grabbing him by his jaw and forcing him to look at her. He whimpered in fear, but hesitantly met her gaze. “You  _ will _ do as I say. As of right now, your life is in my hands.” Her blade danced across his bare skin, a thin line of blood rising in its wake. “This is how this is going to work. I will strip you of every scrap of your humanity until you’re a silent, drooling fool, and  _ maybe _ if I take pity on your existence, I’ll shape you into my own perfect dog. If you fail to comply, I will make sure your death is as drawn out and painful as possible; and, I’ll warn you,  _ I’m quite good at that. _ ” 

Anakin’s face showed no comprehension of her words, but they made Quinlan’s skin crawl. Once again he was torn between his duty to Ventress and his desire to protect his brother.  _ Former brother, remember that, Vos. _ Still, he made no move to stop Ventress as her knife cut into Anakin’s skin time after time, leaving blood to drip down the stone table and pool at their feet. The screams were the worst part, already hoarse from his prior outbursts, causing Quinlan to flinch in sympathy. 

Ventress was both cruel and kind, praising Skywalker, cooing at him, calling him sweet pet names, even as she tortured him. It was disturbing to watch her blade gliding across the pale skin, but it was worse to watch her dig fingers into the wounds while her other hand was wrapped around his cock, pleasuring him, keeping him aroused and hard. Anakin whimpered in pain and pleasure, trying to pull away from her touch while also leaning into it. Quinlan knew what she was trying to achieve, conditioning him to both fear and crave her touch. 

He fled upstairs, unwilling to watch more. 

After some time, Ventress followed him, going to the wash basin and washing the blood and gore from her hands. “You seem upset.” 

“He.... He just.... Came  _ apart _ ,” Vos stammered, staring out the window at the setting sun. His chest heaved, his eyes shifting as his body quaked. He knew this was necessary, but it was still hard to watch it happen.

“Yes, he did. And tomorrow we’ll do it all over again until he is my pet, desperate yet fearful for my touch and voice. And  _ then _ I’ll decide if he’s any use to us alive. If not, he’ll die.” She wiped her hands on a towel, then rested a hand on his shoulder. He shook it off with disgust, somehow knowing that if he betrayed her, he’d be in Anakin’s position. “Quinlan, you’re a Templar now. I’m not asking you to understand it, or to take part. I’m asking you to accept that this is how we do things.” 

“It’s  _ disgusting, _ ” Vos snapped at her, and then grabbed his sleeping roll and headed towards the cellar. “I’m going to keep watch over Skywalker, make sure he doesn’t die in the night from his wounds.”

She scoffed, “I did treat them before I left, do you think me some barbarian?”

“I’m not answering that.” He retorted before making his way downstairs. 

As it turned out, he didn’t actually sleep. He just stared at the sleeping form of Anakin, who fitfully tossed and turned in his dreams, calling out for help or whimpering. Vos could  _ hear _ Obi-Wan in his thoughts, whispering,  _ Just kill him and get this over with. If she doesn’t break him, being trapped in the darkness will. _

He knew he couldn’t kill him, knew it would defeat all the progress he’d made with Ventress so far. This had to happen, Anakin needed to be brought low so he could be remade. At the same time, he couldn’t just sit and watch him suffer without end. There was still some of the drugged wine on the table, he could provide some relief.

This time when he brought the cup to Anakin’s lips, there wasn’t any protest or fight from the man. It was disconcerting to see him so meek and cowed from just one bout of torture; he knew Skywalker had resisted much worse than what he’d seen happen. He had him finish the rest of the pitcher before leaving him to rest again. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to use some of the stronger painkillers he’d purchased from the doctor.

They started a routine, sharing breakfast and Quinlan checking her wound before Ventress went down to torture Anakin anew. Some days he joined her, watching with sick fascination as she masterfully made Skywalker ride the edge of agony and pleasure for hours, other days he would find an excuse to leave, unable to handle the screams and whimpers. 

He’d kept Anakin drugged against Ventress’ wishes, giving him progressively higher doses to keep him quiet as his body kept burning through it with each subsequent torture session. Though, to appease her, he kept the early morning dose to a minimum, enough to dull his sense and keep him compliant, but not enough to really dull the pain. 

On the third or fourth day after Skywalker’s capture, Quinlan felt doubt rise up about his decision on Anakin. It was harder than he thought to resist, hard to listen to the screams, watch the torture. He clenched the star of David that always hung around his throat, grimacing. This was not the way to heaven, that was for sure; but Vos wasn’t making a case for himself either, not with standing here and watching Ventress take on the Assassin in such an unfair fight. 

In fact, he was pretty sure Ventress was more hell-bent on killing the Assassin than she was in remaking him. There was no sign of her lightening or letting him recover. She laughed when he mentioned it, telling him it was much harder to remake a man like Skywalker than it had been him. Quinlan thought for himself; men like Skywalker were blindingly loyal. It apparently required a level of  sadism that made him uncomfortable and left Anakin a bare shell of a man.

That drew the line; Vos had to get him out, one way or another. He’d made an excuse to Ventress on purchasing supplies, which hadn’t really been an excuse, and paid a young boy to deliver a message to the Rafiq. Sadly, he couldn’t put much detail into the note in case it was intercepted, but it at least let them know that Anakin had been captured and was being held somewhere in the Poor District. 

The ninth or tenth day, Ventress came back from an errand, angry, and slammed Vos into the wall by his throat. “I just got word that there are Assassins looking for Skywalker from one of my informants. Did you have anything to do with this?”

Unable to verbally respond with her hand tightly wrapped around his throat, he barely managed to shake his head ‘no.’ The fury in her voice made for no other reasonable option.  _ There’s no way she knows it was me, the boy didn’t see my face and I made sure I wasn’t followed. Even if he did recognize me, there was no way he’d know my name.  _

Her fist slammed into the wall next to his head, “If I find out it was you, what I’ve done to Skywalker will only be the beginning of what I will do to you.” She let go, shoving him back into the wall with a glare. “As a warning, you’re going to help me today.”

Feeling nervous, Quinlan reluctantly followed her down into the cellar, each step making his heart sink deeper into his stomach as he imagined what she would do to him. Already, she had proven creative and cruel in her torture, breaking Anakin over and over with both pain and pleasure again until he gave in and submitted to her. Then she would praise and pet him until he sobbed in relief and leaned into her touches. He couldn’t deny that her methods were effective, if brutal.

Anakin hadn’t moved from the same position Vos had left him after getting him to drink and eat this morning, chained to a ring set in the floor by the collar around his neck. At their approach, he blearily looked up and clumsily shuffled to his knees with a delayed whimper as his torn skin scraped against the stone floor. His skin was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns, nowhere on his body left untouched.

“That’s my pretty boy, aren’t you?” Ventress cooed, walking up to him and petting his matted hair like she would a tame dog. He flinched, but his head still pressed against her hand, a testament to how far she had already progressed with his reconditioning. “I have someone I want you to meet, pretty boy. Come here, Vos.” She continued petting Anakin’s head, gesturing for Vos to come forward. 

The realization of what she planned to do sent a chill up Quinlan’s spine; it was the first time she’d said his name in front of Anakin. He looked in the glassy eyes to see if his name sparked a flash of recognition, but there wasn’t one. He sighed in relief,  _ Maybe we can get through this without him actually realizing who I am. _

“Take off your head covering, Vos.” Her fingers grasped Anakin’s hair, directing his line of sight upwards to Quinlan’s face. She knelt down, speaking soothingly into his ear, “Look who it is, your old friend, Quinlan Vos, alive and well.”

Recognition came into Anakin’s eyes then, his gaze narrowing and face cycling through several emotions: surprise, relief, anger, happiness, irritation, confusion, and settling on hope. It took a few tries of Anakin’s mouth moving for his voice to work, raspy and hoarse, “Quin?”

Quinlan wanted to smile, to be his salvation, to tell him it would all be okay, that he would make it all right, but he knew it would be a lie. Knew that Ventress had done this to punish both him and drive Anakin into the final pit of despair. He’d wanted to spare Anakin this pain, had hoped that Ventress desired their secrecy over damage the knowledge would cause to Anakin. Instead, he hardened his heart and forced himself not to respond, schooling his face into an impassive mask. 

“Poor puppy, knowing that the very friend you’ve gotten into this situation over is the same one that’s been helping me keep you here.” Ventress continued her petting, cooing to him. “You see how the Assassins have been lying to you? They didn’t want you to know, but they knew, they withheld this from you. Quinlan didn’t want to tell you, either; he was ashamed that he  _ enjoyed  _ seeing you like this.”

Pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, she continued her soft cooing and caressed, “I’m the only one that’s ever been honest with you. Even when I hurt you, I don’t lie to you about it.” Her eyes met Vos’s and she smiled wickedly at the smoldering anger she saw in them, “Now be a good boy and wait right here.”

Watching the former proud Assassin shatter was far more difficult than he thought it would be; certainly more difficult than watching his body get broken and abused. His body language changed, the little bit of tenacity that persisted draining from it entirely. Now, only the pleading gaze of a man too broken to know anything else but the want and need, remained. In a far shorter time than he thought possible, Anakin Skywalker had become nothing more than a beaten dog, addicted to the pain and the pleasure that came with it. 

Vos was both pleased and sickened with the fact that they had succeeded in breaking Anakin Skywalker, the Eagle of Masyaf, and were about to break him even further. Ventress grinned, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

He couldn’t disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Icse here and it didn't take a month to update and this is our longest chapter to date! The next few are going to be rather angsty and trigger-ful, so be prepared. We're desperately trying to keep to the two weeks, but, well, we don't get paid for this except in comments and kudos. LOL!
> 
> Also, our new fave OT3 is AniQuinObi, btw. If you haven't ran over to Sid's works page to read her mobster AU one-shots, please do. I need more people to bother her to write more so it's not me nagging all the time.
> 
> As always, Safety and peace and may the Force be with you,  
> Sid and Icse


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember those warnings and tags? This chapter uses them. Two counts of non-con and graphic depictions of violence. Please take this seriously, very seriously. We are not offended if you decide to skip this chapter because of this.
> 
> This should for the most part be the only chapter containing the non-con, the rest of the fic should be far more consensual.

Quinlan couldn’t deny he’d never thought about doing this, never thought about Anakin in this way. It’d been hard not to when he’d finally grown into the long, awkward limbs, his body now perfectly proportioned with the broad shoulders and narrow waist. The years since then had only hardened and honed Anakin’s body, muscles rippled under the skin, the light scattering of hair across his chest and the thin trail that led down to his cock only adding to the attractive picture he made. Even the damage that had been done to his body in the past two weeks did little to take away from how pretty he was.

The noises Anakin made each time the flogger struck against his skin didn’t help anything either. They weren’t quite the noise of pleasure or that of pain, but a hoarse, strangled cry that had his cock twitching with each sound. Ventress’ combination of mixing pain with pleasure had already conditioned the Assassin to be aroused by the pain, mumbling and occasionally shouting his pleas to be touched, even as he flinched away from it and jerked weakly against the bonds holding him.

Briefly, Vos wondered when he had become okay with the idea of doing this, when had the idea of something so appalling only an hour ago, become so appealing? Ventress wasn’t just toying with Anakin, playing him like a puppet, she was doing the same to Vos but far more subtly. His admiration for her swelled again though bile rose in his throat at how easily he’d allowed her to manipulate him. Still, his cock was aching and hard through it all, her control of him, her ability to work him so deftly, his control over Anakin, his desire for the man, and his desire to submit to his wants.

“That’s enough, Vos.” Ventress’ fingers trailed lightly over his shoulders, making a trail in the sweat he didn’t feel until that moment. He stood, chest heaving, as her deft fingers made quick work of his clothing until he was standing with only his pants around his ankles and boots. A slap on his ass was an effective warning and he quickly pulled them both off.

Normally, he’d of made some smart ass comment about liking what she saw, but his head was a bit too fuzzy, a bit too focused on the other naked body in front of him, to put the words in his mouth. Fingers once again lightly trailed down his body, this time around his chest to tweak a nipple before sliding down his sculpted abdomen and continuing on to wrap around his cock.

“Oh my, I think you might actually want this, Vos.” He panted as his cock was stroked slowly, biting his lip to resist the urge to thrust into the hand. A strangled whine escaped him, not sounding anything like his normal confident self. Absently,

“Please, Ven. Please.” Quinlan begged, unable to stop himself from rutting into her hand. He whined when she let go, her chuckle warm in his ear.

“Had I known this was all it took to make you quiet, I would’ve done this long ago.” Ventress nipped his ear, making him shudder.

“Please…” His eyes fixated on Anakin’s ass, admiring the round globes even with the blood and dirt streaking across the pale flesh.

“Since you’ve asked so nicely. Now make sure you don’t break him.” Quinlan’s mouth went dry as she smeared oil liberally on his cock, leaving it to drip from the tip and run down his thighs. A pat on his ass and he lurched forward towards the other man, slotting his slick cock between the firm cheeks to spread the oil.

There should’ve been some prep to this, but he knew Ventress wouldn’t have allowed it. Guiding his cock with his hand, he pressed into the tight hole, groaning as he sunk in inch by inch. Anakin was sobbing and begging, though for what he couldn’t quite tell. It might have been to stop, Vos was sure it was painful even though he was trying to go slowly. It could also be for more, it wouldn’t be the first time Anakin had cried and pleaded for more pain to get the relief of pleasure. He wrapped both hands around the trim waist, desperately holding on to the last vestige of control he had.

It felt amazing, his cock surrounded by the tight warmth that was so unlike anything he’d experienced before. He’d been with other men on occasion, but that had been centered around mutual pleasure through hands or mouth. Sex with a woman was great too, but there was little that could compare to the tightness clenched perfectly around his cock.

Finally, he sank in all the way, hips pressed tightly against Anakin’s body. He knew his fingers were leaving bruises on the broken skin, but he couldn’t find the necessary control to loosen his grip. Ventress’ hands mapped scars and marks on his back, the blood rushing too loudly in his ears for him to actually hear the words he felt on his skin.

A few shuttered breaths and his full senses returned to him, “Fuck, Asajj. So good.”

“You’re doing so well, Quin. Now start slowly, don’t break our poor puppy so quickly.” She caressed Quinlan’s face, “So good for me, my boys.”

Flushing from the praise, he started rocking into to snug sheath slowly. He groaned, leaning forward to press his forehead against Anakin’s tattered back, shifting one of his hands forward to wrap tightly around his chest. Already he knew he wouldn’t last long, it had been too long since there had been anything other than his hand around his length.

Ventress had shifted to sit in front of them, pulling Anakin’s head into her lap and shushing his cries while gently petting him, whispering praises for both of them.

Their eyes met over Anakin’s back, Ventress’ shining with pleasure, and Quinlan couldn’t resist surging forward to kiss her desperately. She allowed it for a moment, even moaning softly into his mouth, before yanking him back by his hair and backhanding him across the face. Quinlan closed his eyes, licking the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and smiling.

“Don’t think for one moment that this means I see you as anything more than useful.” She hissed, before yanking him forward to kiss him again.

Whimpering, Quinlan returned the kiss fervently, tangling his fingers in Anakin’s hair and gripping his shoulder tightly, fucking him roughly while they kissed. His body sang in pleasure, Ventress’ scent in his nose, her tongue dominating his mouth, and his cock ramming into the tight heat. Too quickly, he fell over the edge, his body tensing in ecstasy and Ventress swallowing his moans.

Ventress pulled away and grinned at Quinlan, “Welcome to the Templar Order, my sweet.”

He knew there was no going back.

\-------

“Our favorite Assassin seems to have gotten into some trouble, Kenobi.” Bail dropped the note in front of Obi-Wan, the ginger scoffing at it with little thought.

“That should not be surprising, Bail.” He picked up the note, reading through it quickly despite the messy handwriting. _‘Eagle captured by the cross and held with the poor. Wings clipped.’_

“Should I send my informants out after him?” Bail rifled through some of his papers for a map of the city, setting it on the table between them. “The Poor District is large, but there are also plenty of people who will talk for some coin.”

“No, give him a few days. Let’s see if he can get out of his own mess before we waste resources.” He looked over the map and the vastness of the poor district, “If he doesn’t show up in the next two days, then we’ll begin the search.”

“And if he doesn’t head back here, but goes straight for Masyaf?” Bail raised an eyebrow in question.

“Then I’ll make sure he has plenty of time the next time he’s assigned a target here to perform the most mundane of chores for you so he can make up for wasting your valuable time.” Kenobi chuckled in amusement, but Bail laughed nervously. It seemed that Kenobi was the only one certain of his decision.

Three days passed by without even a hint of Skywalker. Padme tried insisting that they start their search after the first day, but Obi-Wan had held firm. After all, Anakin had gotten himself out of situations like this before with little trouble. After no word on the third day, Obi-Wan relented, instructing Bail to spread the word along his informants before directing the Novices in the search.

\-------

Ahsoka tried not to pace restlessly around the Bureau, moving from one room to the next with no real purpose. Barriss had tried getting her to sit and help with mending some of the spare leather armor that all Bureaus kept on hand, but she had only managed to stab herself with the awl and had given up with a huff. She was frustrated with the lack of progress in locating Anakin, worried for him, and angry for Kenobi at being so nonchalant about the entire affair.

No, Anakin wasn’t the most thoughtful person, yes he was rather selfish, and yes he could definitely be an arrogant asshole, but… He had never treated her any different because she was not a man, had gone out of his way to help her adapt a fighting style far more suited to her size and stature. She’d seen the mask of arrogance slip a few times now to reveal the man beneath, one who was lonely and insecure, loyal and kind. Even though she knew he was one of the most deadly men in the Brotherhood, she felt the need to protect him. The same need she saw reflected in Padme as her eyes flitted to the courtyard every so often while she ground and crushed medicinals for her stocks.

There was no use in her staying there, not when Kenobi kept scowling at her from the corner and the movement of her feet only made her more restless. “I’m going out.”

She didn’t give them the chance to reply, darting up the courtyard wall and out onto the rooftops. There would be a lecture and consequences when she returned, but the walls were too close and her temper too incensed. So she ran, leaping across the gaps without thought until she ran out of rooftops and out of breath. Running had been her escape for so long, one she always seemed to default to when it was all too much.

A high-pitched scream for help suddenly cut off had her searching the ground below her for the source. One rooftop back she saw several guards pawing at a girl not much older than herself in an alley, causing her to spring into action. Quietly she dropped down on the guard closest to the alley entrance and ended his life with a knife across the throat. The next guard had barely drawn his sword before she sliced his belly open and left him laying on the ground trying to hold his intestines in his body. The last guard had a knife to the girl’s throat and a cruel sneer on his face.

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll open her up just like you did my friends.” The dark-haired girl was trembling, tears streaking down her dirty face as her eyes pleaded for Ahsoka to save her.

“You’ll die if you do.” Her grip tightened and loosened around the hilt of her knife as she stared him down, trying to devise a plan that didn’t involve getting the girl killed.

“You’ll kill me either way, might as well-” A knife embedded itself into his eye and he collapsed, the girl screaming as she pulled away from his loosened grasp.

Ahsoka whirled around to face where the knife had been thrown from, relaxing slightly when she saw it was Kenobi at the entrance of the alley. His face was void of emotion, but she could see the tight wound fury settled across his shoulders.

“Thank you for saving me! I will tell my brothers of this!” The girl wiped her face off, straightened her clothes and ran off, leaving Ahsoka slightly confused.

“Novice Tano,” she felt her palms start to get clammy at his tone, “I would advise you _never_ do something like that again or you will be killed. You’re stupid for trying to take them on alone and lucky that they didn’t call for backup.”

She clenched her teeth, “What would you have me do? Stand there and watch as they raped and killed her? Ignore someone when they are in need like you’re doing with Anakin?”

He crossed his arms in a familiar gesture of scowling disapproval, though it had never been directed at her. “You’ll watch your tone with me, Novice.”

“No! I’m tired of being silent! Waiting for you to do something other than sit around drinking tea!”

“That’s enough!” His voice silenced any further protests, “You will address me with respect. You will _not_ question my decisions. You are a Novice and you will behave yourself as befitting the Brotherhood. I can see that Skywalker’s influence on you has extended to his insolence and I will not allow it!” He was panting with anger and she could see a fervor in his eyes that frightened her, before he took a deep breath and schooled himself back to a cold impassiveness, “Now return to the Bureau and I will take care of the bodies. We’ll discuss this when I return.”

Sufficiently chastised, she grit her teeth while executing a polite bow, and left, blending into the crowd to do as she was told.

\-------

It wasn’t until the twentieth day that any information regarding Skywalker’s whereabouts came forward. An informant came through with an old woman’s suspicion regarding a neighboring home and some of the noises she thought she heard of a man screaming in pain. She’d originally seen three people enter the house, but since they’d come to reside there, only one had left with any regularity.

Normally, Kenobi would’ve left the search up to the informants or novices, but Padme had kept giving him stares that were thinly veiled threats, so he had relented and went to investigate himself. He’d just managed to settle in on a bench within visual distance when he saw a woman leaving the home, looking around warily before she left. That wasn’t too odd, especially in this area, except he caught the glint of a sword under her cloak. _You were looking for a sign, Kenobi; there it is._

Briefly, he wondered if it was the bitch that they had come across in the Temple, but he dismissed it. She was too high ranking to be wandering out alone in disguise. Still, his hand clenched with the beginnings of engaging his hidden blade, angered once again because he had to save Anakin’s ass instead of being able to chase down the woman and confirm her identity.

He carefully surveyed the area surrounding the building, shifting from rooftop to rooftop until he made a complete circuit. _No time like the present._ Quietly, he slipped through one of the second story windows and crept slowly down the stairs. There were no voices as far as he could tell nor the sound of anyone moving through the house.

Obi-Wan had expected there to be multiple guards for such a valuable target as Skywalker. At the same time, it was a good tactical decision provided the hostage was well secured. Guards drew attention, and when trying to hide from the Assassins, the less attention brought to a place, the better.

The ground floor of the house looked lived in, water in a wash basin, a cot with blankets tangled, an item of clothing draped over a chair, and a pot of stew simmering over the small cookfire. That was a good and bad sign, it meant the place hadn’t been abandoned and that someone was still here to tend the fire.

A soft noise made him pause, quieting his breathing down and shutting his eyes to see if he could make out where it was coming from. It sounded like someone was whimpering or crying, but the noise was muffled and coming from under him. He opened his eyes and spotted the partially obscured cellar entrance nestled behind the stairs to the upper floor.

Quietly, making sure to test his weight carefully on each step, he descended into the cellar. The whimpering became louder, punctuated by the rattle of metal every so often. He kept to the shadow as best as possible, regretting that he hadn’t brought Bail or one of the Novices along to keep watch. Once he was down here, it would be hard to tell if there was someone up there, especially with an injured Anakin.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the darker lighting in the cellar, one flickering lamp the only source of light. Pressing himself against the wall, he could see the broad back of a man leaning over something in the corner. _At least this accounts for the three, should give me some time. I think I’ll even leave this guard alive as a little present for their hospitality._

Obi-Wan wasted no time, using one of the implements on the table as a club and knocking the taller man out. There was a certain satisfaction in watching him crumble to the ground, but it was quickly eclipsed by the view that had been hidden.

He almost didn’t recognize the man chained to the wall as Anakin Skywalker. His head was bowed, hair dirty and tangled, bruises and cuts marred his body. Anakin had always been lean and long, but now his ribs were clearly defined and the angles of his body sharper than they had been previously.  

His anger surfaced, someone else had taken what had been his due. He should’ve been the one to leave those marks, to damage that body. It was _his_ revenge, his _due_ , not anyone else’s!

Growling in frustration, he drug the unconscious Templar to another spot further down the wall and used the chains hanging there to secure the large man. For a brief moment, he considered killing him for what they had done, but he stopped himself. _This man needs to deliver my message to that bitch, and he can only do it if he’s alive._

Of course, there was no reason he couldn’t take his frustration and anger out on the man who really did deserve it. If anything, the Templars had given him a perfect opportunity. Any damage he caused could easily be explained by the captivity and obvious torture. Any memories or blame from Anakin explained away as delusions or hallucinations. After all, Kenobi _was_ going to rescue him.

Anakin hadn’t looked up once at him, hadn’t done anything more than flinch and whimper even when he’d knocked the Templar out in front of him. Now he wished he hadn’t knocked the Templar out as hard as he did, just so he could find out what exactly had been done, how far they had broken him.

With a rough jerk to Anakin’s chin, he shifted to look at his face in the meager light. His eyes, once full of life and fight, were dull and subdued, no recognition in them even when staring directly at Obi-Wan. There were bruises and cuts to his face, including a deep one that bisected his right eye that had already scabbed over. Defeat and passiveness had overtaken Anakin, it seemed, as he continued to sit docilely through the rough handling.

Irritated by the lack of response and recognition, Kenobi slapped Anakin hard across the face to try and get him more cognizant. It seemed to do the trick as Anakin groaned in response, slowly shifting onto his knees and spreading his legs before looking up to blink blearily at him. “‘Enobi, he’p?” he murmured hoarsely, eyes finally focused on him.

“It’s _Master_ Kenobi, Novice,” Kenobi hissed, hand gripped around the bruised throat before he realized what he was doing. _Kenobi, stop,_ he could hear his conscience tell him, but he pushed it back down, _This is my right! Allah would see this just! My! RIGHT!_

When his grip around Anakin’s throat tightened, Anakin hoarsely choked out, “Sorry, M’sser ‘Nobi.”  

With a snarl, Obi-Wan shoved him back into the harsh brick wall by his throat, letting go of him when his breath turned into a labored wheeze. Anakin didn’t resist, only whimpering softly to himself, remaining exactly where he’d been left on his knees, compliant, complacent, waiting. The next blow was to Anakin’s chest, sending the man sprawling to the side with a cry. Kenobi grabbed him by the jaw, forcing his head back to meet his stare.

“You really are a whore, aren’t you?” Kenobi whispered, malice and hate lathered over his tone as he noticed the half-hard cock between the Assassin’s legs. When Anakin didn’t answer, he slapped him across the face. “Aren’t you, Novice?”

“Yes, M’sser ‘Nobi.” Anakin’s broken blue eyes stared up at him, hopeless, worthless. Just like Kenobi had felt when Quin died.  

“Good boy.” He praised, letting his harsh grip faded to a mockingly gentle touch, and Anakin seemed to relax into it as Kenobi’s hand pressed into his matted, filthy hair.

 _He finally understands that no one can help him anymore,_ Kenobi smirked, looking around the cellar to see if he saw the keys to release the manacles. They weren’t on the tops of any of the tables, nor on the stone slab that dominated the center of the room. He shifted his gaze to the unconscious Templar and saw the ring hanging from his belt.

Whistling tunelessly with the sudden giddiness of his revelation, he patted Anakin on the head before getting up and grabbing the keys off the belt. He took a moment to look the man over, an odd familiarity to how he slumped against the wall, but ignored it. There was a limited amount of time and he didn’t want to waste it on some lowly Templar guard.

Unlocking the manacles, he let Anakin’s arms drop down, eyeing the deep abrasions on his wrists, but they were the least of the man’s problems. Based on the stiffness Anakin exhibited, it had been awhile since his arms had been allowed below his head, but it didn’t look like there would be any permanent damage.

He wanted there to be scars to remind Anakin of his failures and faults, but he didn’t want him crippled. Suffering, pain, mental agony, the same as he had suffered after the Temple. _And I wanted the marks to be by my hand_ , he thought, and glanced over to the unconscious Templar in the corner, again. _You took my privilege from me,_ Kenobi seethed, and then turned his eyes to Anakin. _I refuse to have anything else ripped from my grasp._

Not giving Anakin any time to recover, he tugged him off the wall by his hair and pulled him up to stand. Anakin teetered on his feet, stumbling behind him with short, clumsy steps. Kenobi forcibly pressed him against the stone slab, using the grip in his hair to shove his chest and head forward until his cheek was flat against the cold stone.

Anakin shuddered under his grip, from the cold or fear, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell nor did he care. He leaned forward, cruelly forcing Anakin’s bruised hips harder into the stone, surprised when the man moaned at the contact and spread his legs wide. He pulled back at the reaction, repelled by its implications, and yet, his own cock was hardening in interest.

Angered, he yanked Anakin’s head back and growled in his ear, “I bet you enjoyed the torture so much you begged for them to take you. Spread your legs wide like the whore you are and begged for them.” He savored every whimper and cry his harsh words pulled from him, “Was that all it took to make you obedient? A cock in your ass to fuck obedience in to you?”

A steady mantra of mumbled ‘please’ mixed with whining fell from Anakin’s lips as he tried to grind his ass against him. Kenobi grinned, yanking him back by his hair to bring Anakin’s rear in contact with his hard bulge. The man moaned, back arched unnaturally with the force Kenobi applied.

“Is this what you want, whore?” He ground against him roughly, teasingly, “Is this how I have to teach you your place, Novice?”

“Please, M’ssr!”

“No.” He sneered and roughly shoved away, releasing his grip and leaving Anakin keening at the loss and bent over the slab. “No, I don’t think so.” Obi-Wan surveyed the table off the side and its implements, selecting a knife at random and testing it against his fingers. It was wickedly sharp causing him to smile as he considered the lean body stretched out in front of him.

Kenobi’s pleased smile turned sadistic as he leaned against the slab and softly caressed the side of Anakin’s face to turn it towards him. “Look at me.” His grin only widened at Anakin’s hard flinch when Anakin noticed the knife in his hands, his expression torn between fear and want.

“I deserve to leave my own marks on your body, don’t I?” He gently traced the skin of Anakin’s shoulder with the tip of the knife, leaving a red welt in its wake but not piercing the skin. “The Templars got to leave theirs,” he traced over the Templar cross carved into the skin between shoulder blades, “so I will leave my own.”

This time he pressed down with the blade, a sharp line of red welling up behind the path of the knife. The whimpers it brought and the conflict warring across Anakin’s face between obedience and fear pleased him to no end. There was no discernable pattern to the lines he etched into the skin, some long and shallow, others short and deep, some tracing older cuts, more making new ones.

“You know I asked Al Mualim for your death as was my right put forth in the Quran. Quinlan Vos might not have been my brother in blood, but we have been brothers in spirit since the day we met, and that made our brotherhood all the stronger.” Obi-Wan let the blade glide up towards Anakin’s neck, “All it would take is a quick slice across your throat, just deep enough to cut through your life vein here.” He pressed the tip against the pulsing vein, “Allah would consider this just in His eyes.”

Anakin’s breathing was shallow against the blade of the dagger, his body completely still. A low whine vibrated in his throat as Kenobi lifted the blade from his neck and bent down to lick the small line of blood, his voice soft, gentle, as he sucked and nipped at the skin, leaving a dark bruise over the cut. “You’re lucky Al Mualim wants you alive.” He hissed the next sentence in Anakin’s ear, hatred on his tongue. “ _That_ is the only reason you still live.”

“P’ease! Mas’er, p’ease!” Anakin’s words were slurred, cheek pressed against the slab, but yet still he rutted against the stone despite the rough texture. Kenobi was fully hard in his pants, aroused by the control he had over the other man, the red stains marring skin satisfying a deep seated primal need within and waking another.

“The Eagle of Masyaf, how far you have fallen, begging for your Master’s cock like a whore bred for it. Is this what you did for Al Mualim to earn your whites so young? Did you offer him your body, _moan_ for him like a cheap whore?” He tossed the knife to clatter amongst the other instruments on the table.

“No, nonono… No!” Apparently his comment had struck a nerve with the younger Assassin, his protest growing louder with each repetition. Kenobi smirked, gripping Anakin by the back of his neck and keeping him pinned.

“You’re right, you might have begged Al Mualim, but he would not stoop so low to try and fuck such a pitiful thing like you.”

The whimpers echoed through the chamber, and if the man in the corner stirred, Kenobi didn’t notice. He was too focused on the whimpers, on the moans, the pure terror and arousal that bled into the blue gaze that burned before him. But the man had stirred, brown eyes seeming to glow an ominous yellow in the dim light as he watched, enraptured, slumped against the wall.

The primality of the situation didn’t fully envelop Kenobi, not then. A small part of him still prayed for Allah to forgive him, that he was a sinner that needed mercy. _Merciful God,_ he seemed to cry out, but he had found his god in Anakin, in a body he could abuse for letting his family die, letting Quin die, letting everything he ever built fall apart.

And for the first time in his life, he didn’t hear a response to his cries for forgiveness.

“Beg me, Skywalker. Beg for me to take away the pain and replace it with the pleasure you crave. _Beg me,_ you fucking whore.”

Nothing but whimpers came from the animal pinned to the slab, hair tattered, skin destroyed, and body abused. Kenobi snarled, yanking the man’s head back to bend his spine so unnaturally to growl in his ear. “Don’t make me repeat myself, whore.”

“Pwease! P’lease take me, M’sser ‘Nobi! Fuck me, please!”

Kenobi grinned, eyes narrowed with lust and want. There should have been some preparation for this, more for his own sake than Anakin’s, some sort of lubrication--

 _There._ Body oil on the far table, probably used by the Templar bitch and her henchman to fuck the obedience into Skywalker. “You know, before you were promoted to Master Assassin and became such an arrogant prick,” Kenobi began, lathering his fingers with the slick oil before drizzling a good portion down his crack, “I, too, had inappropriate feelings for you. You were more likeable then, even as a show-off. I watched you much like the way I’ve seen you watch me.” He dragged his fingers lightly down Anakin’s sides towards his cleft, watching the goosebumps form behind his touch, with a sadistic smirk on his face. Anakin moaned, arching in to his gentle touch, body tensed and twitching in anticipation.

“At one point, I even considered abandoning my Islamic faith because I felt fondness, maybe even _love_ , for you.” He cruelly squeezed the swollen balls, shoving Anakin back down and pinning his wrists painfully behind his back when he reared up in pain and tried to push Obi-Wan away, “Those days are over, not that they ever really were there.” He leaned close to Anakin’s ear once more, his breath raising hot goosebumps along the tanned, scarred skin. Obi-Wan continued to pinch and torment, enjoying the cries of pain and weakened thrashing against his hold. When Anakin ceased struggling under him, he stopped his torment of the bruised sac in reward.

“Maybe I would’ve done this with soft words and caresses, instead of this hell you brought upon yourself. I would’ve wooed you to my bed, plied you with those sweet figs you enjoy, not chasing after your pitiful ass into the custody of the Templar.” A soft nip to Anakin’s ear followed the statement, then a gentle kiss to his cheek with a glare to the slumped body in the corner. “It would’ve been enjoyable, pleasurable, taking the time to explore our bodies together.” He let go of the bony wrists and placed them on the slab, running his hands down the back of the younger man, his hands staining red with Anakin’s blood and grinning. “But I will enjoy this just as much. Beg for me, whore. Show me how much you want it.”

The words were jumbled, stammered, but they were there. Kenobi undid his pants just enough to free his cock and slicked himself up, choosing to skip stripping for the sake of time. There was still the possibility of another Templar showing up and he didn’t need to be caught unable to fight.

Obi-Wan grasped the pert cheeks and pulled them apart to inspect the puckered opening. Anakin’s entrance is inflamed and puffy from its previous abuse, the evidence from the encounters still caked between the cheeks. It makes him furious again, the thought of someone else claiming what is his, clamoring to the surface. Staving off his desire to maim and kill the Templar still chained to the wall, he pushes into the tight passage far more quickly than he originally intended. He fought back a moan at the wet heat surrounding his cock, focusing more on the litany of barely intelligible ‘thank you’s and sobs of relief Anakin was making.

“Good whore,” Kenobi praised, staying fully sheathed in him as he settled, hands gripping bruises over existing ones on Anakin’s hips. “I am going to fuck you until you tell me you belong to me, and then I’ll keep fucking you, just to prove you right. Am I clear?”

“Yes, M’sser,” Anakin mumbled, mouthed out around a long, breathy groan that left his lips. He no longer writhed or moved under him, his body going soft and yielding with relief after the initial penetration.

It took Obi-Wan a moment to find a rhythm. It had been a very long time since he’d been with anyone at all-- at least, that he remembered. The cadence found him, though, in time with Anakin’s short, quick breaths, lengthened by his long moans. The man whimpered under him, whispering “please” over and over under his breath, smothered by moans and cries of pleasure.

“Say it, whore,” Kenobi hissed, reaching into the matted locks and yanking back. “Say it.”

“N-no,” Anakin protested, though weakly.

Snarling, he twisted his harsh grip in his hair until the other man was forced into an unnatural arc of his spine, “Say it!” He needed his claim spoken out loud, needed Anakin to understand that it was him doing this to him, causing the pleasure and pain. His need to possess and punish demanded it, needed acknowledgement that his claim superseded that of his Templar captors.

“Yours! On’y yours! Please ‘Obi!” The words were just as sweet as he’d imagined, ragged with pain and tears tracking down dirtied cheeks.

“You beg for me, and _only_ me from now on, do you understand?” Kenobi hissed out, his voice deeper, huskier, and his breath hot on the blond’s neck. His hand released the tangled hair, trailing down the sharply angled face to curl possessively around Anakin’s throat, “You’re mine.”

“Yes, M’sser ‘Obi,” Anakin conceded hoarsely, and Kenobi sneered, releasing his grip and letting the blond fall to the slab. He landed with a grunt, face first into the stone, and Kenobi braced himself against it before digging his free hand into the hair of the man before him, realigning himself and seating himself in one quick thrust. Anakin moaned, a higher pitched keening that made Obi-Wan’s blood boil.

“Did you moan for them like that, Novice?” Kenobi hissed, half-lidded eyes admiring the beautiful patterns of damage he and the Templar had left behind, “Beg them, like you do for me?”

“No, M’sser,” he wailed piteously, “ ‘Nly you. Belong t’ you.”

_Only you._

Kenobi grinned, leaning down to whisper in his ear with a sharp thrust. “Good boy, such a good whore.”

Anakin’s broken sobs and pleas only heightened his pleasure and soon Obi-Wan lost himself to it, chasing his own pleasure with abandon. When he was close, he sunk his teeth into the other man’s shoulder to muffle his own cries of pleasure, tasting the sharp tang of fresh blood as he broke skin. It was the thought that he had marked his property in such a primal manner, a mark that was entirely unique to him, that drove him over the edge, his whole body tensing as he filled Anakin with his come. His legs nearly buckled when Anakin’s sheath clenched and spasmed around his overly sensitive cock. He remained slumped over Anakin’s back, panting to catch his breath and not trusting his own legs quite yet.

Several minutes passed before he had the energy to pull out and survey his handiwork. Blood sluggishly ran from the deep bite on Anakin’s shoulder, mingling with the smeared and drying blood covering his back. Bruises in the shape of fingers, fresh over yellowed ones, contoured his hips. He ignored Anakin’s whimper as he pried apart his cheeks to watch his seed leak from the puffy and abused hole, slapping him harshly on his ass when he tried to pull away with a protest.

“You look so pretty like this, my come dripping from your hole, my marks littering your body.” He felt sated in a way he hadn’t felt since well before the Temple. Obi-Wan had always taken such pride in his control of his emotions, but the pleasure of unleashing them, giving in to them, was unparalleled. Vaguely, he knew this was wrong, knew he had exceeded what Allah would grant as recompense, but he couldn’t find it within him to care. Possession, deep and dark, ran at the forefront. _He deserved it. He’s mine now. I’ve marked him for everyone to see and know._

Seeing Anakin start to crumple on trembling legs, Kenobi lifted him to lay him flat on the slab. He shushed the whimpers and sobs with soft kisses and gentle touches, soothing him with quiet praise until he quieted down. There’s a soft murmured ‘thank you’ from Anakin before the Assassin dozes off, exhausted from the exertion.

A weariness sets deep in Kenobi as well, but he shook it off, knowing their time could be up at any moment. Quickly he wiped himself down and adjusted his clothing, thankful that the black doesn’t show blood like his whites would. Especially as he’d more than likely have to carry Anakin back to the Bureau. _At least with all the older marks on him, they won’t think any of it was me. Anything he says can be explained off as aftereffects of the torture._

He didn't realize that he’d been staring at Anakin, lost in his thoughts, until a voice startled him, “You want more, I can see it. It’s so hard to stop after the first taste.” Kenobi’s eyes narrowed on the Templar still strung against the wall, grabbing his dagger and prowling towards him. The obvious threat didn't seem to phase the Templar as he continued to speak, “He’s so beautiful like this. Unmade. So… malleable, obedient. I confess that he was far more tempting than I had thought possible and so much better than imagined.”

The more the Templar spoke, the more familiar the voice became until Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back any longer. Hope and dread filled him as he yanked the headcovering, demanding an answer, “Who are you?”

It was only years of training that kept him from dropping his weapon at the shock of seeing the Templar’s face. “Quin?” He breathed, eyes wide.

“Surprise.” Quinlan grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, y'all. We really struggled with this chapter and what we should have and shouldn't have put in it. Ultimately, we decided that this fic has been rated and tagged correctly since day one and to go full bore. This is a pivotal point for the story and we felt it important to truly show the level of depravity Kenobi has hit in his warped desire of revenge and to explain just how Anakin was broken as it will help things in future chapters.
> 
> Come find Icse on Tumblr at [IcseK](http://IcseK.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this isn't abandoned, promise! I am just completely incapable of a regular posting schedule. Just continue to have patience and you will be rewarded.

###  Chapter 8

No words came to Obi-Wan’s mind as he stared at the familiar face he had been missing for months now. He wanted to ask so many questions, wanted to know how much he had seen, hoped he hadn’t seen this side that grief had brought out from him. More than anything he wanted to know this was real and not another figment of his imagination much like hearing Quinlan’s voice in his head. Hesitantly, he touched Quinlan’s face, moving it side to side to look for the scars he knew should be there, finding them and new pinker ones as well. 

“What? No welcome? No hug? Not even going to unchain me?” Vos’ voice had the same teasing lilt he remembered, like everything was a joke. Like he’d not died months ago. 

Immediately, he was suspicious of this exacting imposter. “Tell me something only Vos should know.”

The grin on the man’s face widened, eyes twinkling with mischievousness, “Well, there was that one time when we were both novices and too young for the brothels. We both sucked-”

“That’s sufficient!” Obi-Wan felt the heated blush rising that the mention of  _ that incident _ always brought -- along with the bubbly giddiness of knowing this was, in fact, his brother -- some sort of red flush to his cheeks. His hands slightly shook as he undid the shackles with the key, helping Quinlan to his feet before drawing him in a tight hug.  _ He’s here, he’s alive, he’s ALIVE, not dead, NOT dead, not DEAD! _

Vos was holding him just as tight, neither of them saying a word as they reassured themselves of each other’s presence. Reluctantly, they let go, each taking a step back to regard one another.

“How much did you see?” Obi-Wan had never been one to beat around the bush, carefully avoiding looking at either Anakin or Quinlan.

“Nothing more than I, myself, have done. What needed to be done to bring him to heel, breaking him down so he can be re-made anew into a man instead of a weapon. We let Al Mualim turn him into what he was; it’s only right that we be the ones to correct the mistake we didn’t know we were making then.”

Confused by the lack of harsh judgement, Kenobi looked hard at Quinlan, “You’re saying that you’re responsible for-” he gestured to their surroundings continuing to studiously ignore Anakin, “-all of this? I didn’t think your God allowed for such pursuits of revenge?”

Quinlan laughed, a harsh echoing sound so different from his usual good-natured one, “Revenge? While I can agree he needed to be punished, I didn’t do this out of revenge. I did this to bring change to the Brotherhood, to help erase the corruption that has spread like wildfire through it. Skywalker was shaped into Al Mualim’s weapon, his war hound, the pointed edge of his sword. By breaking him, Al Mualim has lost his greatest weapon and the diseased flesh can be cut away so healing can begin.”

“I don’t understand any of this Vos. Corruption in the Brotherhood? The need to stop Al Mualim? This is all sounding very much like treason.” He crossed his arms, regarding Vos suspiciously.  _ Does he truly believe this? Or have the Templars warped his mind? Al Mualim has led the Brotherhood into a golden age! Our numbers are many, our might is strong, we must work in the dark to serve the light. Has he just lost his way? _ “Al Mualim has not led us wrong, brother. These Templars have warped your mind-”

Eyes shining with fervor, Vos made a step forward, “No, you do not see it, Obi-Wan! It’s not something you can see from within. The Assassins have become stagnant, we preach the Creed yet we are often given assignments that go against that very same Creed! How often have we been ordered to kill those who seem innocent? How often have our actions caused the death of those who are truly innocent?! We no longer hide in plain sight, we don’t even bother to hide at all, our targets are killed in more and more public places! We were asked to make spectacles of their deaths! Skywalker was not the only one guilty of this among us!”

Striding forward, Kenobi placed his hands on Quinlan’s shoulders, “Quinlan, it sounds as if you no longer believe in the Brotherhood. Have they warped your mind so much that you have become one of them?” Anger, sadness, and fear ran through him. He’d just gotten Quinlan back, but the man in front of him was not the brother he’d mourned as dead at Solomon’s Temple. “Come back to Masyaf with me, you can see for yourself-”

“No! I should not have expected you to understand!” Vos pulled from his grasp, angrily taking a step away, “I had thought you might when I had watched you with him, but I can see now you do not. I can no longer serve a Brotherhood so corrupt. Change needs to be brought, but it cannot be done entirely from within, there needs to be an outside force compelling it, driving it.” He hesitated, his shoulders slumped with defeat and his voice cracked with sorrow, “You will always be my brother, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but I can no longer be an Assassin.”

Anger rose within him, “You can’t leave me! I just got you back!” Obi-Wan took a deep breath, readying himself, “If you will not come back willingly, I will just have to make you.”

The grin on Vos’ face was predatory, a reminder that he was easily Kenobi’s match with a solid three inches of height on him. “Unlike  _ your boy _ over there, I’m not suffering from any wounds or a lack of food and water. I can the exhaustion in the set of your shoulders and the red of your eyes, you’re no match for me right now, Kenobi.” He slowly moved, circling to where his back faced the stairs and exit, “I’d hoped you would see my way-”

“You made a commitment to the Brotherhood, one not easily broken!” He snarled, the familiar rage coursing through his blood, “I will not allow-”

“For a man who has always prided himself on supporting the pursuit of free will, you certainly have become comfortable with telling others what to do!”

“Only for your good! They have twisted-”

“They have done nothing! I have seen this all with my own eyes! With my own thoughts! Free of Al Mualim’s influence! Free to truly see!”

“THEN YOU ARE LOST!” He drew the dagger he had stashed in his belt, “You were my brother! I loved you! Quinlan Vos, the man I considered brother, is truly dead by Templar hands!”

A matching anger flashed in Vos’ eyes, “No,  _ brother _ ,” he sneered, “it is you who are too blind to see! Blinded by your loyalty! Blinded by your anger!” His voice dropped lower, “Blinded by lust.”

“No more than you,  _ Templar _ !” 

“Better a Templar than an unthinking tool!” Quinlan took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself until the wild expression on his face was replaced with one of cool detachment, “Take your prize, broken as he is, back to Al Mualim. There’s enough opium to keep him quiet all the way to Masyaf. Run back like the dog he has made you, but do not look for me.” Before Obi-Wan could respond he was gone up the stairs and the door slammed shut behind him. He could hear the bar being settled into place outside the door, not that it would prevent him from being able to escape, but it would slow him down enough to give Vos enough time to disappear.

Anger fled from him, the red tinged vision fading with the sound of Vos’ booted feet on the floor. Weariness settled over him like a mantle, forcing him to rest on the bottom of the stairs.  _ Alive and dead all in the same day. I have truly lost a brother and gained an enemy. _ His gaze fell on the battered Assassin still lying on the slab, the rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was alive. 

_ Allah, forgive me.  _

\-------

Unsure of where to go, Quinlan spent days wandering the streets of Jerusalem, sleeping in out of the way corners and vacant rooftop gardens. Despite his statement to the contrary, Quinlan had still expected Obi-Wan to look for him or at least revisit the safe house.  He lingered like an old bruise, festering, aching. It was better to stay away just in case, to not test his resolve so thoroughly a second time.

The day before Ventress’ expected return he watched the house from afar for hours before he went inside. Everything was as he had left it, not destroyed in a fit of rage or punishment for his failure to return. There was a smear of dried blood that stained the floor near the cellar entrance that denoted where Kenobi had dropped Anakin, probably to find something to cover him. He didn't bother to go down into the cellar, there was no point with Anakin gone.

When she finally arrived, he felt both relieved and worried by her presence. He fidgeted while she stowed her bags and knocked off the worse of the the road dust, unsure whether he should just come out and say what had happened or to give her time to settle in first. Either would not end up pleasant for him, of that he was sure. 

“What is wrong with you?” Ventress asked, regarding him suspiciously, “What happened?”

_ No time like the present _ , he thought before bracing himself for her reaction, “Kenobi came and took Skywalker.”

Eyes narrowing, Ventress glared at him with a less than surprising amount of vehemence, “And you just let him? Helped him even?” She hissed, shoving him against the wall and putting her knife against his neck.

“No! I was down there and he managed to catch me from behind, I never even heard him! By the time I came to…” He hesitated, uncertain if he should include what he’d seen, but the pressure of her knife increasing against his throat convinced him quickly, “He was using Skywalker-”

“He was  _ fucking _ Skywalker?” The pressure against his neck lessened with her disbelief, “What was his purpose?”

“Revenge for my death.”

At that she laughed hard, letting go of him entirely, “Did he figure out it was you afterwards?”

“Yes. I thought he might understand, that he might join us.” The lingering sadness surfaced once again, Kenobi’s rejection stinging far more than he had expected days later. He really had thought he might understand, seeing him like that, but he didn’t. His fragile inner peace had shattered at the revelation that he was truly dead to his brother.

Ventress scoffed, “Even if he had wanted to join us, he would not be welcome. One former Assassin is enough of a risk, we certainly wouldn’t take a chance on another.”

“You would turn away those who have become enlightened about our cause? Those who seek peace and unity?” He was still unsure as to the exact size of the Templar Order, but surely it couldn’t be so large as to not need skilled people dedicated to the cause.

Rolling her eyes, Ventress regarded him as one might a child or a particularly stupid adult, “If you had a choice in the beginning would you have become a Templar? Because as I recall, you fought against it rather hard at the start.”

“Generally you don’t torture people to convert them to your cause.” Quinlan retorted.

Her smile was all teeth, “Why not? I find it a very effective method to ensure loyalty. After all, you’re still here when you’ve had plenty of chances to escape. You could’ve left with your little friends and been halfway back to your precious Brotherhood. Yet here you are.” 

It’s a battle he can’t win, but it’s one he tries to fight anyway, “It’s not the threat of torture that keeps me here, Asajj, and you damn well know it.”

“Yes, yes, change of heart, change needed for the Assassins, and so on and so on. All of which never would’ve happened if we’d left you in some cell to rot. I could’ve left you nothing more than a pathetic sobbing puppy just like Skywalker, after all.” 

He grimaces at the mention of his name, “What are we going to do about him? Are you just going to let him go?”

“Well I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?” Ventress snapped back, “He’s broken, he’ll be worthless to your precious Mentor. It wasn’t the original plan, but he’ll still be unable to fight. Maybe we’ll get lucky and your friend will continue to break him some more for us.”

The thought didn’t sit well with him, but he knew it was inevitable. Vos had watched, saw the look in Obi-Wan’s eyes and knew it wouldn’t be enough. All he could hope was that he would consider his words and take them to heart. If change was to be brought to the Brotherhood, he couldn’t do it alone.

 “Start packing, Vos. It’s time to rejoin Maul at Arsuf.”

“Oh, joy,” Vos muttered, almost subconsciously. 

\-------

Restlessness filled Obi-Wan as they were forced to delay their return to Masyaf for Anakin to be recovered enough to make the journey. Padme had flat out refused to leave until the fever that ravaged his body lessened and the worst of the infected wounds were clean again. It cost them days Obi-Wan didn’t want to spend in Jerusalem, not with Bail’s questioning looks and the constant noises of pity Padme and Ahsoka would make at Anakin. They grated on his frayed nerves, driving him back out into the city. 

The first few days he dutifully heeded the call of the imam to prayer, spending more time at the mosques in his quest to find peace in religion once again. He sat with different mullahs, listening to their teachings and interpretations of the Quran, but none of their words providing the comfort they once did nor the peace he sought. If he were back at Masyaf, he could debate the Quran’s meanings with Satine, but the mullahs were not appreciative of his arguments. Instead they scorned and spurned him with sharp words, questioning his devotion and obedience to his faith. 

Their questioning rattled him because it was true. Allah had stopped answering him, so it must be true. 

A devout Muslim would not desire another man. They would not dream of hot, red blood staining their fingers as they fucked a pliant body with their cock. They would not want to hear the anguished moans, the begging for more, the ‘please Master’ over and over. They would not be angered at the sight of healing cuts, would not crave to open them anew and write their ownership in blood. No, a good Muslim would not hunger for any of these things, but Obi-Wan did.

Quinlan had been right, one taste was not enough. It could never be enough. The need to possess again and again plagued him. At night, the memories taunted him in his sleep, fantasies fueled by Anakin’s pained moans distracted him through the day. He couldn’t continue like this, it would drive him to madness. It was driving him to madness and yet his need for revenge was satisfied. No, it was not revenge that drove these feelings, he realized, it was the knowledge that Anakin was his and his alone.

In his desperation he had tried women and men that took coin in exchange for company, but none of them satisfied the hunger. They were not right beneath him, their sounds not the ones he wanted to hear, their pleasure not raw and painfully pulled from them. They were too eager, their desperation a lie, their willingness to debase themselves for additional coin too revolting.

These darker desires were not something a good man would lust after, would crave like water to quench his thirst. They were heinous, repulsive, vile impulses that no good man would ever be able to conjure. Obi-Wan Kenobi was not a good man, had probably never been a good man.

The thoughts pursued him even as they finally were able to get underway towards Masyaf. His goodbye to Bail was absent and insincere just like his presence had been in the Bureau since Anakin’s return. He was far too lost in his own thoughts and problems to concern himself with others.

_ Have I always been fooling myself about being a good Muslim, a good man? Could one be an Assassin and still be either of those things? I have broken the pillars of Islam over and over for the Brotherhood. Has Allah finally run out of forgiveness for me? Does he abandon me when I need him most? _

Several days into their journey, he stopped praying entirely. Allah would not answer him; he would not be forgiven.

It wasn’t forgiveness he hungered for anyways. There was no point in deluding himself with thoughts of religion anymore. Faith in an unseen god asked too much and gave too little. It demanded his blood and life, but did not ease his suffering. 

_ What is the point in faith and working towards an eternity that might not happen? Why seek approval from an uncaring god? The Quran tells us over and over again that He cares for us, loves us, but I have yet to see any kindness come from Him! Why deny myself just to appease an absent deity?  _

There was no pain when he made the final decision. No lightning that struck him from the sky. No gust of angry wind. No fires from heaven to burn him for impudence. Nothing seemed to change as he cast aside his faith, cast aside the old Obi-Wan and remade himself anew without the tenants of an empty religion holding him back.

Nothing happened as his eyes turned to a darker salvation that could only be found in Anakin Skywalker. Nothing except a newfound freedom and an awakened fervor.

\-------

The return trip to Masyaf was tense, even for the novices. Ahsoka helped Padme for most of the journey, preferring to busy herself with the tasks associated with taking care of the injured Assassin than the awkward silence that accompanied them. Master Kenobi’s deep brooding didn’t help the matter, souring the feeling of the group even further. She had attempted to talk to him on several occasions only to receive a one word answer or no answer at all. Ever since his return with Anakin, he’d been different somehow in a way she couldn’t place.

Padme kept the trip bearable, explaining everything she was doing and showing her how to prepare the poultices and potions. Anakin’s wounds were horrific, images that would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her days. It was worse knowing they were purposefully inflicted, the lines carved on his skin, bite marks that would scar from their depth, the bruises that resembled hands and fingers far too much for coincidence. Padme never said aloud the other things that had happened to him, but she could see and hear.

The first few days at the Bureau had been the hardest, infection burning through his weakened body at a rate faster than he could fight. She, Barriss, and Padme had taken shifts watching him and forcing awful-smelling concoctions down his throat. They’d fought through the fever, constantly wrapping him in wet cloths to keep his body temperature down as he struggled against them. His hoarse shouts made her heart ache in sympathy, but what was worse was the begging. It shook her to her core, the things he offered for her to just stop. His few lucid moments were filled with nothing but requests to kill him.

Lucid moments were still far and few between once they were underway. Ahsoka was secretly glad for his moments of complete unconsciousness, the break from his cries and whimpers a blessed relief for everyone. It was difficult to see the strong, proud Assassin so broken and pitiful. Gone was the man who had shared knowledge and training with a confident air and a smirk. Instead, they were left with a being that couldn’t even be called a shadow of his former self. Padme reassured her that he was strong and would make it through, but Ahsoka couldn’t bring herself to believe it.

One brief moment of lucidity stuck out to her, where he was perfectly sane and intelligible. He’d gripped her hand, warned her of the Templar and to never question when they say that they’re cruel and cold and calculated, doing everything in their power to linger like a plague on mankind. She’d only nodded, an ashen remnant of her previous healthy pallor, and tried to pry his icy cold fingers from his arm. The lucidity passed, and he was whimpering again, leaving her alone in her confusion. 

Even as she thought of that moment, so dark her mentor had seemed, she had never thought she would see the day where Master Kenobi refused to pray, but that day had come too. His change disturbed her as well; the entire trip to Jerusalem, he’d ran them through exercises at every available opportunity. He’d randomly attack them when they were least expecting it, citing their need to remain aware at all times. Now, he sat on his horse, his gaze rarely leaving the road except to look at Anakin.

Another scream of pain and fear broke the silence. Padme did her best to hush him, but Ahsoka just closed her eyes, willing the sickening pity rising to go away. Pity would not help him get better. 

Yet another scream, and she flinched, halting her horse and dismounting barely fast enough to aim the contents of that day’s breakfast away from the group as her stomach emptied itself onto the side of the road. Barriss held her hair back, humming quiet noises of love and patience, while Kanan and Saw looked on sympathetically. Padme only sighed, cutting her a tab of ginger to place under her tongue and some water to rinse her mouth out with. 

“It won’t be forever,” Padme insisted, but even she seemed scared of Anakin’s slowly-updating condition. 

Masyaf’s walls couldn’t appear quickly enough for her liking. When they finally passed the arch denoting their nearness to Masyaf, all she could feel was relief. At least there she could have some separation from everyone to try and process the last few fortnights. The entire group had a change in atmosphere, even the purchased horses, sensing the eagerness in their riders.

At the gate, they were stopped by the guards only briefly after Master Kenobi snapped at them, the first words he’d spoken all day. Then again, he was probably just as eager to be away from them as she was. Before Jerusalem he hadn’t liked Anakin, based on the looks he gave Anakin, he liked him even less now. At least he’d been quiet most of the day, reducing some of the tension they all felt.

Once past the portcullis, they were met with a contingent of fellow novices to assist with the horses and the luggage. Padme sent one to the healers for assistance in moving Anakin, shooing Ahsoka and Barriss away when they came to help.

“We’ll be fine, you’ve helped plenty. I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your quarters and to get baths. I’ve got plenty of help coming. Shoo, you can swing by anytime if you want to see him.” Her smile lessened the impact of her words, relieving Ahsoka of the guilt of not really wanting to help but feeling obligated.

“Thank you, Padme.”

Barriss grabbed her by the hand and practically dragged her all the way back to their shared room. Ahsoka laughed for the first time since Anakin’s return, shouldering her pack and following her best friend. If it hadn’t been for Barriss, she didn’t think she would’ve made it through this trip. It seemed like her friend always knew the right thing to say or the right time to offer comfort. Saw and Kanan kept to their own company through most of the journey there and back, Barriss made their quasi-isolation bearable.

Days had passed since they’d returned to Masyaf and Ahsoka continued to put off visiting the healing wing. Honestly, she didn’t know why she felt so connected to the older Assassin. Other than the extra training here and there, he’d never gone out of his way to be particularly friendly. If anything, his corrections were given with a hint of irritation than one of comradery. 

Still, guilt and curiosity drove her across the fortress into the healing hall during one of her breaks where she was met with a rather stressed looking Padme. She was staring blankly at a wall, dark circles under her eyes denoting her lack of sleep accented even more by rumpled clothing and messy hair pulled back with a string. 

Slowly, so as to not startle Padme too much, Ahsoka touched her shoulder gently, “Padme?”

“Oh! Ahsoka! Sorry, I must’ve drifted off for a moment. Is everything alright?” The healer looked her over with a practiced eye, “Any more problem with your woman time?”

Ahsoka flushed with embarrassment, “Uh no, I came to see how Anakin is doing.”

Padme’s sigh told her nearly everything she wanted to know, “Body-wise, he’s healing well. Infection is completely gone and everything is starting to heal well. His mind, it’s not going to be as quick to heal as his body. Good news is that I’ve been able to start weaning him off the opium so he’s having a lot more lucid moments. Bad news is that he’s lucid more often.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted?” She asked, confused.

Padme directed her to the storage room and worked while she spoke, “Yes, it’s a good sign that he’s regaining some clarity, but he’s not always sure where he is and what’s real or not in those moments. His reactions aren’t predictable and I’m sure you can appreciate how dangerous that can be.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? You look like you can use some rest. Isn’t there someone else who can be doing this?” Ahsoka was worried about Padme, now that she was able to watch the woman it was clear she was exhausted.

“No, I’m afraid not. The other healers have typically avoided him in the past, they are even less willing now. He’s always had his quirks, now there are just more.” Padme finished putting away the items from the foul smelling concoction she’d made, “Though I could use your help at the moment to get him to take this, it’s certainly easier with two.”

Ahsoka smiled, “I’d be happy to help. Maybe afterwards you should try and sleep a few hours, I can stand watch if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

“Thank you for the offer, I might have to take you up on it.” She handed the cup to Ahsoka to hold while she unlocked the door at the very end. 

The room was bare of everything except a cot, a small table, and lit lamps up high on each of the walls. Anakin’s back was to them, huddled under blankets as he visibly trembled. His hair was cleaner than it’d been on their arrival, curls no longer snarled and tangled. Fresh herbs perfumed the air to help cover the smell of sickness, but her nose still scrunched in disgust.

“Anakin?” Padme’s voice was gentle and soft, keeping her distance from the cot. “I have Ahsoka here with me. She wanted to see you.”

There’s a long moment of silence before he stirred, “Go ‘way.” His voice is barely audible, hoarse and unsteady, “Please.” It sounded so pitiful and broken, the words of a man who had given up.

Padme approaches him slowly, motioning for Ahsoka to shut the door behind her, “You know I can’t, Anakin.” Her soft touch to his shoulder made him flinch and whimper, huddling in on himself even more, but she doesn’t withdraw her hand. “Do you know who I am?”

“Padme?” It’s more a question than an answer, still so quiet.

“That’s right, Ani. We’re here in Masyaf, safe.” Her voice stayed gentle, like she would’ve talked to a scared child.

Ahsoka bit her lip, fighting the urge to flee the scene. Somehow it was easier when he wasn’t really there than this was. Easier to listen to his screams than listen to his soft voice. She could be strong, she could do it for Padme if no one else.

Licking her lips, she finally spoke, “Anakin, I’m happy to see you.” She doubted he could sense the lie, though it sounded weak even to her own ears.

At her voice, he turned over slowly, blinking blearily at her like he was having a hard time seeing her, “Ahsoka?”

She forced a smile to her face, feeling even more uncomfortable with his gaze on her, “Yes, it’s me. I’ve come to see how you’re doing and to sit with you a bit.” The words felt silly coming from her mouth, more appropriate when dealing with the elderly than a man ten years her senior.

He didn’t respond, the silence stretching on until Padme spoke up once again, taking the cup from Ahsoka, “Anakin, I need you to drink this and then I’ll leave you and Ahsoka to catch up.”

Ahsoka had expected some type of fight from the man, readying herself to help Padme if she needed assistance, but Anakin didn't put up any resistance. Instead, he stared blankly in Ahsoka's direction and drank the concoction without any reaction to the taste or Padme's touch. It was like he was no longer there mentally, more a body without any real mind. 

“Alright, I'll leave you two to catch up.” Padme smiled briefly at Ahsoka, “If you need me, I'll be in the room next to the storeroom.”

Nodding, she watched Padme leave with a sense of apprehension, but flashed her a reassuring smile anyways. Once they were alone, she realized there wasn't a chair and settled on to the small table, grateful in its practical sturdiness. His blank stare was still too unnerving for her so she stared down at her own hands while she tried to think of things to say to fill the time.

It was awkward at first, talking to a man who didn't respond, but it didn't take long before her words were flowing one subject to the next. She started with her day and from there moved easily into her training progress. Occasionally she looked to see if he'd responded, encouraged when he would be actually looking at her with interest even if he remained silent. Ahsoka didn't move from the table, just kept talking about anything and everything except Jerusalem until she looked to see his eyes closed and breathing steady with sleep.

No longer did she feel disconnected or uncomfortable, his interest sparking her desire to help out of friendship rather than guilt. Anakin was still there, she determined, he was just broken and damaged. Between her and Padme, they could put together the pieces to help make him whole again. 

Spirits lifted once more, she smiled at him genuinely before she left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Ahsoka walked past the room where Padme was sleeping, content to let her get some sleep. Anakin was sleeping and Padme needed the rest, she would appreciate the full night's worth when she woke up in the morning. Everything would be okay.

\-------

There was no escape, he could feel the heavy manacles around his wrists, could feel the iron collar surrounding his neck. She was there, with her knife and sweet words, cutting into his flesh and telling him how good he was for her. Then there was Quin, entering him with a bright flash of- _No, not Quin, he's dead, he's dead, he's not coming back, all my fault, never coming back._ It was Obi-Wan forcing entrance- _No, that's not right._ _Obi-Wan was his savior, the one who had taken him from her, from the dark_. But she would get him back, good dogs always returned. She was there, again. Hand in his hair, her hand-

Anakin jerked awake from his nightmare, throwing himself out of bed and bolting from the room. It wasn't safe, he wasn't safe, she was coming. He could feel it. There was nothing he could do, she would come back and he would go. Good dogs are loyal to their masters. He was a good dog. Good boy. Sweet boy.

" _ No!" _ Anakin ran as fast as his bruised bare feet would take him. It wasn't until he was outside Kenobi's quarters that he realized where he was going. Kenobi, savior, safe, protector. His savior, he was free, he couldn't be touched by her. Obi-Wan would save him.

He  _ always _ saved him.

The door was locked. If he’d been the man he had been two months ago it would be childsplay to pick the lock, but he was no longer that man. Instead, he pounded on the door feeling too exposed out in the deserted hallway. He had to get to Kenobi, had to get him to let him in, except he couldn’t get his voice to work beyond a panicked whimper.

Relief filled him as soon as the door opened to reveal an irritated Obi-Wan, not giving him a chance to say anything before brushing past him into the room where he knew safety awaited him. Obi-Wan wouldn’t turn him away, he would protect him from himself, would know what to do. He was here, he would be okay, he could trust Obi-Wan.

Vaguely, he could hear the door shutting behind him as he shifted from foot to foot, still full of the panic driven energy that drove him here. Now he was unsure, nervous once again with the thoughts of what he was supposed to do, what Obi-Wan would want him to do, where he was allowed to stand, if he was supposed to be standing.  _ Too much, it was too much, I just need _ -

A hand roughly grabbing him by the hair quieted his thoughts, this was what he needed. He wanted it to stop, wanted the comfort that came with being a good boy again. When the fingers tugged his hair, he willingly went to his knees in supplication. Memories started to flash of the many times he had kneeled in front of them, but fled as the grip tightened to the point of pain.

“What are you doing here, Novice?” Kenobi’s voice was smooth and calming. He had switched to petting Anakin's head, soothing away the little pain he had caused.

“Obi-” A slap across his face stopped him before he could finish his name. Anakin whimpered, cowering down further to the ground but not moving from his position kneeling at Kenobi’s feet.

“That's not how you address me, boy.” His voice was harsh and unforgiving, much as his hand had been. 

“S-sorry, Ma-aster Ken-obi.” He stuttered through his tears, sobs threatening to spill. Of course he couldn't do this right either. He wasn't good, he was bad.  _ Bad boy, stupid boy, unworthy, all my fault, all of it. Quinlan, Jerusalem, Temple. Bad. Stupid. Arrogant. Dangerous. _

A gentle hand to his chin drew his vision up to look at Obi-Wan, the calloused thumb wiping away his tears. “None of that now, I know you want to be a good boy for your Master. Right?” Gentleness turned cruel, the firm grip tightening to the point of pain.

He tried to nod or speak, but the grip allowed him to do neither. The cut on the inside of his cheek from the slap throbbed and he could taste blood from where he’d bitten his tongue. Anakin didn’t struggle against it, lowering his eyes as best he could in hopes that it conveyed his submission. He did want to be good, he would be good for his Master. If he was good, nothing bad would happen. If Obi-Wan had him, she couldn’t get him.

“Good boy.” Kenobi’s hand released his jaw to stroke his hair once again, “Now, what are you doing here?”

“Safe.” It’s the only thing he can think to say, “Need to be safe.” He didn’t look up when Obi-Wan laughed, keeping his eyes to the floor in front of him. Anakin wasn’t sure what was funny about his request, though maybe he was laughing at how far he’d fallen or how pitiful he’d become. That might have bothered him before, but now he knew his place, where he belonged. 

“And you think my rooms are safe?” His voice was full of mirth, the occasional chuckle still escaping him. “With me in them? Oh dearest, they must have really scrambled your head.”

The mention of  _ them _ brought back more memories he wanted to forget. He could feel the knife again, branding the mark across his back over and over again. It was horrible, her words, the caresses that went hand in hand with her knife. Quinlan's- no he was dead, his fault he was dead, just a hallucination that came from opium like Padme said. They would go away. Obi-Wan was going to make them go away. That's why he was here.

Cautiously he nodded, struggling against the weight of the crushing memories. “You saved me back  _ there. _ ” He can't bring himself to name the city that was determined to be his downfall. Solomon's Temple and now  _ her _ .

If he had been looking at Kenobi, the predatory smile on his face would've made him tremble with fear. Instead, he only felt the hand resume it's petting, soothing away the worst of the memories and leaving the stirrings of calm.

“You are so wrong, whore.” The mirth was replaced by a hard edge that made his stomach turn with fear.

Anakin cried out with pain as he was dragged by his hair towards the bed. He didn't try to resist, he knew better, but he was confused by the action. Obi-Wan was supposed to save him from this! Before he could consider anything else, Kenobi bodily hauled him onto the bed by nothing more than his hair and an arm. 

Looming over him, he's pinned by the hunger he sees in Obi-Wan's eyes, his voice smooth but cruel, “I'm somewhat offended that you don't remember our time together that day. Though I can't say I'm too surprised. That bitch certainly is talented, I will give her that.

“You moan and beg so prettily, I've hardly been able to think of anything else. So obedient too, like such a good whore. Maybe I should actually thank her. After all, she's given me such a nice gift.”

Unwillingly, Anakin could already feel his body begin to respond to that tone of voice, that look in his eyes. Flashes of Quinlan were replaced by Obi-Wan and he knew somehow that these were real. Or maybe they weren't, like Quinlan. Obi-Wan with a knife, Obi-Wan pushing him into hard stone, Obi-Wan calling him whore, demanding he say something.

“Yours.” The word was barely a whisper, coming unbidden, but it lit a triumphant gleam in blue eyes. 

“Good boy.” The praise sent shivers down his spine, “And you want to be mine, don't you whore?”

Without a thought, he's nodding in agreement, “Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan was always smarter than him. Maybe he always knew where Anakin belonged, but Anakin had fought. He had been arrogant and bad back then. Now he knew where his place was, what he was supposed to be. All he had to do was obey.

“I knew you could be my good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Tumblr at [IcseK](http://IcseK.tumblr.com)
> 
> I write for comments and kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> We are not sorry. Thanks for reading and see you in the next chapter!


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